


Star Wars: Episode I Belated Media Rewrite

by Katerinaki



Series: Star Wars Belated Media Rewrite [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belated Media Put out the idea, F/M, I'm just writing it out my way, What if Star Wars Was Good?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katerinaki/pseuds/Katerinaki
Summary: Long ago, the Jedi knights were the guardians of the Galactic Republic. Their skills with a blade was matched by none, and only surpassed by their knowledge and control of the Force. For many thousands of years, they used their skills to fight for peace and prosperity in the Republic.But those years are passed, and now the Jedi serve as diplomats, travelling from system to system to ensure the continued peace their predecessors sacrificed so much for. Two such Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, journey to the Republic world of Alderaan.There, they expect to find a thriving Core world, and the continued peace of the galaxy…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Opening Crawl:

Long ago, the Jedi knights were the guardians of the Galactic Republic. Their skills with a blade was matched by none, and only surpassed by their knowledge and control of the Force. For many thousands of years, they used their skills to fight for peace and prosperity in the Republic.  
But those years are passed, and now the Jedi serve as diplomats, travelling from system to system to ensure the continued peace their predecessors sacrificed so much for. Two such Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, journey to the Republic world of Alderaan.  
There, they expect to find a thriving Core world, and the continued peace of the galaxy…

 

Part 1:

Obi-Wan sighed and tugged at the stiff collar of his diplomatic robes, fidgeting in his chair. Across the table, his Master, Qui-Gon, frowned.

“You’re restless today, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon commented. He sat upright in his own brown diplomatic robes, looking every inch the venerated Jedi Master. Obi-Wan felt like he just looked stupid in the formal robes they used for these “diplomatic visits”. Where his Master was tall and leonine, his brown and gray hair pulled back and his beard neatly trimmed, Obi-Wan was shorter and looked like a boy playing dress-up. He was twenty-four years old, and yet his face was round and he still toted the thin braid of an apprentice resting over his right shoulder. The rest of his reddish-brown hair he kept short in the style of a Jedi padawan.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he replied. And he was sorry, though perhaps not for being restless. Really, he was sorry that they were sent out on yet another of these boring missions. Obi-Wan knew the moment his Master had told him to pack his dress robes that they were not going on a true mission. They were going to glad-hand politicians and assure the people of Alderaan that the Jedi were still very much alive and protecting them. Though, from what?

The last true mission they’d gone on had been to chase down a group of pirates. Before that, a Hutt smuggling ring. All of it was certainly useful and important to maintaining peace in the galaxy, but none of it held the true purpose of the Jedi. Because a Jedi Knight was not meant to fight petty crime lords and Hutts. They were meant to protect the galaxy from the true evil, the Dark Side, the Sith.

Only it had been centuries since anyone had seen a Sith. Not since the last war where one thousand Jedi and Sith had clashed in a battle that every youngling in the galaxy knew of. The Battle of Korriban. The Jedi had brought the fight to the very heart of the Sith homeworld and they’d emerged victorious, ultimately winning the war for the Light.

That was the mission Obi-Wan longed for, and what he dreamed of as he sat in his uncomfortable robes and tugged at his collar. His lightsaber called to him from its place on his belt, and Obi-Wan felt the urge to clash blade with blade, and not just in a sparring match with his Master.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon’s rebuke was stronger and Obi-Wan jerked upright out of his daydream.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he repeated, only this time he was truly repentant.

“Where is your mind today, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I had a dream last night, Master,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Oh? What of?”

“The Battle of Korriban.”

His master’s face tightened. “Obi-Wan,” he said warningly.

“I know, Master, a Jedi seeks peace.”

“Then why do you constantly long for war? The Sith Wars were a terrible time in the history of our Order. Many Jedi Knights sacrificed so that the galaxy would be free from the grasp of the Dark Side.”

“I don’t long for war,” Obi-Wan protested. “I just—don’t see what these diplomacy missions have to do with protecting the galaxy from the Dark Side.”

“Our continued presence is reassuring to the people of the Republic. They rest easy knowing that we are still patrolling the galaxy, ensuring the peace of the Republic.”

“It’s overkill, Master.”

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. This was a conversation he’d had many times with his padawan learner and each time, Obi-Wan still didn’t seem to understand. Perhaps that was why he still refused to place Obi-Wan up for the Trials of Knighthood. He simply did not believe that Obi-Wan understood the true purpose of the Jedi.

“Regardless, it is our mandate,” Qui-Gon said at last. “Prepare yourself, we should be coming into Alderaanian space soon.”

The two Jedi stood and Obi-Wan straightened out his robes before they joined the pilot and co-pilot in the ship’s cockpit. The ship they travelled in was not a large ship, with only a crew of the pilot, co-pilot, and engineer. It was a diplomatic vessel and carried no blasters or munitions of any kind. The wings and saber of the Jedi Order with the eight-spoked circle of the Galactic Republic served as protection enough as they moved through Republic space.

“Good afternoon, sirs,” the pilot said as they stepped into the cockpit. “We should be dropping out of hyperspace momentarily.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Captain,” the co-pilot said, “Approaching our re-entry point in three, two, one.”

The long streaks of hyperspace coalesced into familiar pinpoint stars and the ship decelerated and dropped back into real space. Before them, hanging in space was a green and blue, mountainous world. Obi-Wan remembered from his briefing that Alderaan was well-known for its natural beauty and its people lived in cities and towns that were architecturally designed to fit in with the environment.

The Captain immediately opened a comm frequency and began trying to hail Aldera, the capital city and the seat of power for Alderaan’s royal family, the House Organa.

“Aldera Control, this is the Radiant VII. I am carrying the two Jedi Knights on a diplomatic mission. Requesting landing vectors, over.”

Obi-Wan expected to hear the usual boring traffic control talk, directing the pilot to turn here and descend there, but the frequency remained silent. He frowned, looking up at his master for guidance, but Qui-Gon was still as serene and unperturbed as usual.

“Aldera Control, this is the Radiant VII. Requesting landing vectors, over.”

Still, nothing.

“Aldera Control, are you receiving, over?”

The pilot tried for a good two minutes, but no response came from the planet below, and Obi-Wan was nervous.

“Perhaps they are experiencing an outage,” Qui-Gon said at last. “Land on the outskirts of the city.”

But something wasn’t right. Obi-Wan could feel it in the Force, like a tunic that was cut poorly or a dish that was cooked improperly. It simply wasn’t what it was supposed to be, and that is what the situation was now.

“Master?”

“Walk with me, Obi-Wan.” The two of them left the cockpit as the pilot began entering Alderaan’s atmosphere. The two of them returned to their shared quarters.

“Master, I have a bad feeling about it,” Obi-Wan said when they closed the door and were alone.

“I don’t sense anything,” Qui-Gon replied, but he still began removing his formal robe and changing into a more practical tunic.

“What are you doing?”

“We will likely be hiking into the city,” Qui-Gon explained simply. “It would be better to wear something more durable. Change.”

Obi-Wan quickly stripped off his robes, glad to be rid of the horrible things and was just fastening his belt over his own tunic when there was an explosion and the ship suddenly pitched. Only their Jedi reflexes kept Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from falling and the two of them sprang into action, racing back for the cockpit. Only the way was sealed shut by one of the ship’s blast doors, meaning not only was their ship damaged, but likely their pilots were injured. The ship lurched again and began shaking as Obi-Wan grabbed onto the nearest seat. Qui-Gon took a seat across from him and strapped himself in.

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan shouted over the blaring alarms and the roar that meant their ship was falling through the atmosphere.

“We’re going to crash,” Qui-Gon told him. “Brace for impact.”

Obi-Wan had only a second to strap himself in before what remained of their craft collided with something, throwing Obi-Wan against the bulkhead. His chest screamed and his vision blurred, just as another crash came and metal crunched. Obi-Wan’s head slammed against the collapsing roof and a trickle of blood ran down his eye as he fell unconscious.

 

Obi-Wan swam into consciousness to the firm voice of his Master.

“Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, wake up.”

He groaned, but opened his eyes. His right eye felt thick and was caked with something. His hand swiped at it and came away red. So, it was blood.

“Careful,” Qui-Gon coached as Obi-Wan sat up. His chest burned with each breath and his ears were ringing. He felt like he’d just been trampled by a nerf cow.

“What happened?”

“We crashed,” Qui-Gon explained. “The ship’s crew is dead.” He removed a bacta-soaked bandage from the nearby ship’s med kit and swabbed away some of the blood from Obi-Wan’s eye. He blinked, able to see better. Behind his master was the twisted remains of their ship, still burning and sending a tower of black smoke rising over the treetops. Obi-Wan could see where the ship had impacted trees and other things on their crash, but he could also clearly see the burning, gaping holes, the work of torpedoes.

“Someone attacked us.”

“Yes, and they will likely be coming to finish the job. Are you able to stand?”

Groaning, Obi-Wan began to push himself to his feet. He swayed against his Master’s firm hand, but managed to get upright. The pain was immense, but he released it into the Force, breathing through his injuries to nod.

“I’ll be okay, Master.” With a few fortifying breaths and no small amount of help from the Force, he gathered his strength to take a few steps. It hurt, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Aldera is north of us, I believe,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing off into the trees. “If we move now, we should make it there by nightfall.”

“How do we know we’ll be welcomed?” Obi-Wan replied. “Someone attacked our ship, and there was never a reply from Aldera Control. Are we sure the Alderaanians will welcome two Jedi?”

“In this situation, we can’t be sure of anything. But it is too dangerous to be out in the wild at night and our ship is damaged beyond repair. Aldera is our only choice.”

The two Jedi set off through the woods, Qui-Gon leading the way with Obi-Wan staggering behind him. Their pace was slow with Obi-Wan’s injuries, but Qui-Gon did not comment on it once, instead taking the extra time to listen to the Living Force to guide them through the unfamiliar forest. Night began to fall, but Qui-Gon assured his apprentice they were not far from Aldera when suddenly both Jedi froze. The warning in the Force came just moments before the scream of a starfighter coming in low and fast could be heard overhead.

“Take cover!” Qui-Gon ordered, diving behind a tree as Obi-Wan struggled under a rocky overhang. Seconds later, an unfamiliar starfighter appeared over the trees, flying very low. It was likely the pilot was looking for the two Jedi, as the starfighter had come from the direction of their crash.

The starfighter was almost out of sight when suddenly a cannon fired from the treetops and blaster fire ripped through the starfighter, sending it careening into the forest. A moment later, a second fighter, likely the first’s wingman, came down, cannons blazing. Qui-Gon had to dodge out of the way as his cover was destroyed. The fighter pilot saw him and circled back around. Qui-Gon turned and ignited his green lightsaber, standing ready. Obi-Wan sprung from his own cover, standing side-by-side with his Master and his own blue lightsaber.

“You’re injured, get to safety,” Qui-Gon growled.

“Not on your life, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, preparing to face the oncoming fighter.

But just before it reached them, a second cannon fired, this time from on top of the rocky outcropping. It was joined by blaster fire from the treetops on either side of the Jedi and the fighter was quickly overwhelmed. It crashed into the trees and disappeared in a fiery explosion, just beyond the ridge. Whoops and hollers echoed from the treetops and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan looked around in surprise as the fighters slipped out of the trees, disguised in a shifting brown and green patterned uniforms.

Obi-Wan shifted, putting his back to his master and not lowering his lightsaber as they were surrounded by the forces in the trees. They were men, but their faces were painted or covered with dark cloths. Each was heavily armed with blasters, though they didn’t seem to be training them on the Jedi.

“Peace, Jedi!” one of their number called. “We are not against you.”

The speaker broke away from the group, lowering the cloth over his face and revealing a young man with tanned skin, dark hair, and a familiar face, though Obi-Wan could not recognize how he knew him. His blaster was slung over his back and as he gestured to the others, they followed his example, slinging their own blasters. Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon deactivate his lightsaber and he reluctantly followed his master’s example. In the distance, they could hear more starfighters coming nearer. The leader seemed to hear it too.

“Come,” he said, “We have a safe place. The Federation patrols heavily around the capital.”

The Federation? Obi-Wan’s confusion only burgeoned the longer they spoke. He didn’t think it was a particularly good idea to go anywhere with this band of…mercenaries?

But, obviously his master didn’t feel the same.

“We would be most grateful for any help you could provide.”

The leader nodded and slipped the cloth back over his face. “This way.”

They formed up into a rough line with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon near the front as they weaved through the trees. Where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had moved slowly, uncertain in their course, this group knew these woods well and didn’t hesitate even once until they came to a river at the base of a tall cliff face. Roaring water tumbled over the cliff face, feeding the river below. Vines and moss protected the rock face, blending it with the greenery around it. Their group came to the base of the cliff, not far from the river’s head, a wide pool at the base of the waterfall.

At first, Obi-Wan saw nothing to indicate why they’d stopped here of all places. If they expected him to climb the rock face, they would be sorely disappointed. Had he been uninjured, he would’ve been able to do it easily. But between his throbbing head and his stiff chest, not to mention the likely cracked ribs, Obi-Wan would not be climbing any cliffs today. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to. The leader of their group felt along the rock face, pushing aside the vines until he seemed to find what he was looking for. There was a small, metal plate set into the rock and he flipped it open to reveal an old keypad that was weathered, but still appeared operational. A few seconds later, there was a low grinding and, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, part of the rock face moved aside, revealing a small, low entrance.

“Everybody in,” the leader ordered, and his fighters filed in one-by-one, ducking under the doorway. Qui-Gon followed as well, but Obi-Wan hesitated, to the leader’s obvious amusement.

“There’s nothing inside to hurt you, Master Jedi,” he assured him.

Obi-Wan nodded jerkily, but still hunched over, hissing in pain as he squeezed through the door. The leader was just a moment behind him and then the door closed, throwing them all into momentary darkness. Then lights flickered on either side, revealing a rough-hewn passage way deeper into the mountain. The fighters were already proceeding down it to another door, this one of thick durasteel. A blast door. Again the leader punched a code into an old keypad and the door slid open, with a grinding screech at the end.

“Must fix that,” he muttered as he gestured Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan through. This time Obi-Wan made a point to step through confidently, just a half-step behind his master. He did not expect what he saw.

Inside was a control room. It wasn’t a state-of-the-art operation, of course. Everything, like the keypads and the doors they’d passed through so far, seemed at least a few centuries old. But lights flickered as sensors monitored the surrounding woods and fighters in the same green and brown camouflage uniforms sat at the stations, monitoring the incoming information. It was quite the set up.

“Welcome to our base of operations,” the leader said as he shed his cap and camouflage jacket. Beneath the uniform, Obi-Wan was surprised to find a pale blue tunic bearing the gold, heart-shaped insignia of House Organa, the ruling house of Alderaan. Standing before him, dressed in the livery of his house, Obi-Wan at last recognized their host, Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan.

“Your Highness,” Qui-Gon said, bowing his head respectfully. Obi-Wan followed his master’s lead but the prince was already shaking his head.

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” he told them. “Alderaan is not under the rule of my family. It hasn’t been for some time.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged their confusion. As far as they knew when they’d left Coruscant on their mission, Alderaan had still been under the control of Queen Mazicia Organa. Their Senator, Bail Antilles, had been in attendance in a Senate session when they’d departed.

“My padawan needs medical attention,” Qui-Gon said at last. “If we may use your med bay, perhaps you can also explain what has happened here? As far as the Republic knows, Alderaan is still at peace.”

Bail took a look at Obi-Wan and his eyes lingered over the gash on his head and the way he was holding his side.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” he agreed. “This way. Raymus?”

One of the fighters who’d accompanied them looked up from where he was giving a report to one of the technicians.

“Will you tell my sister we’ve returned and ask her to meet us in the med bay? Assure her I am uninjured.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Raymus replied with a short bow.

“This way.”

The base stretched further into the rock face and had obviously been built as some sort of bunker at one point. There were periodic blast doors that they moved through and the hallways were thin and low, meant for utility and not for comfort. Others moved through the passageways, but they always deferred to Bail, pressing themselves against the rock wall to allow him and the two Jedi to pass unimpeded. Bail, for his part, always nodded and greeted each person by name as they made their way towards the center of the base. The med bay was not much, but it had a bacta tank and was stocked with enough supplies to take care of most wounds. Obi-Wan removed his tunic at Qui-Gon’s behest as he gingerly sat on one of the exam tables. His sternum was bruised from the restraints and his ribs were definitely cracked as Qui-Gon gently prodded his side to assess the damage.

“We saw your ship come down,” Bail explained as Qui-Gon set about applying bacta to the various surface wounds.

“You said the aggressors are a group called ‘the Federation’?” Qui-Gon asked. He gently lay his hands over the ribs, making Obi-Wan wince, but the apprentice relaxed as the warmth of the Force flowed through his muscles and bones, encouraging healing. It wasn’t true Jedi healing, but it would speed things along and take the edge off the wound for the time being. When they returned to the Jedi Temple, Qui-Gon would likely insist Obi-Wan see the trained Temple healers.

“The Trade Federation,” Bail explained.

That caught Obi-Wan’s attention and distracted him from his ribs.

“The Trade Federation? How could they be responsible for this? Neimoidians aren’t confrontational.”

“We were caught by surprise as well,” Bail admitted. “They came to Aldera under pretense of negotiating a new trade agreement. But while they were at the palace, they took my mother and father hostage and invaded the city with a droid army. My sister and I, with a few of the palace guard, managed to escape.” Bail grinned. “It was her idea to come here.”

“What is this place?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I should think you would know, Master Jedi,” Bail replied. “This bunker was created by the royal family during the Sith Wars. It was meant as a hideaway for children and Force-users, should the Sith ever try to invade Alderaan. A lot of it was old and dysfunctional, but my sister is a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind to something. She got this place going and recruited most of the fighters from outlying towns and the few who’d escaped the invasion of the city.”

“And now you’ve formed an underground resistance,” Qui-Gon said, at last removing his hand. Obi-Wan sighed in relief, glad that he could breathe freely again.

“If you could call it that.”

Obi-Wan scrambled for his shirt when he caught sight of the short girl who barged into the med bay with aplomb. After some fumbling, he managed to get his head and hands in the right holes. The girl eyed him, unimpressed.

“Master Jedi, my sister, Padmé Amidala Organa,” Bail introduced.

“So this is why you had Raymus get me,” Padmé commented, shooting an unreadable glance at her brother. She was all of a meter and a half tall, but she seemed to loom over everyone in the room the way she radiated authority. Her brown hair, pulled into a bun at the base of her head, was a bit lighter than her brother’s, as was her skin tone, but they shared the same brown eyes. Obi-Wan was used to meeting intimidating gazes. He’d attended plenty of negotiations with creatures of all types, many of whom wished to intimidate the Jedi, but none held a flame to Padmé Organa.

“I assume you’re the Jedi sent for our diplomatic visit?” she addressed Qui-Gon, ignoring Obi-Wan completely.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

But Padmé, like her brother, waved off the title. “Padmé, Master Jedi.”

“I am Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan managed to drag his jaw off the floor long enough to politely incline his head at his master’s introduction. So much for Jedi poise and serenity.

“We are grateful to have you, Master Jinn,” Padmé replied, barely sparing Obi-Wan a sideways glance. “As you can see, our situation is a difficult one. With our parents imprisoned and long-range communication disrupted, we haven’t been able to get word to our Senator to request aid from the Republic. The Trade Federation is in violation of several laws, not to mention their treatment of our people has been inhumane at best. Bail would never do this, but I’m afraid we have no other choice. I formally request the aid of the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic in re-securing our sovereignty and putting a stop to the illegal, barbaric invasion by the Trade Federation.”

Just a few hours ago, Obi-Wan had been lamenting this mission, positive it was going to be dull and a waste of time. But now he stood in the secret base of an underground resistance, on a planet that was invaded by the galaxy’s largest trade conglomerate. A conglomerate run by Neimoidians who were green-skinned, simpering cowards at best and highly unlikely to seek out a conflict such as this. There was something more here, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel thrilled at the prospect of digging to the bottom of this and saving this world from oppression. It was the stuff of Jedi legends!

“I would immediately accept your request, Your Highness,” Qui-Gon replied, “but I’m afraid it is not mine to accept. You must go before the Senate and plead your case, otherwise there is little I can do.”

Obi-Wan stared at his master with incredulity. How could he refuse? This was precisely why the Jedi existed! They weren’t there to wander around the galaxy appearing in peace parades! They were meant to fight for the Republic against oppression and evil. Padmé and her people needed help, and Qui-Gon wanted her to go beg the bureaucrats in the Senate?

“Master,” Obi-Wan began to protest, but Padmé beat him to it.

“Surely you, as a representative, could plead our case. You’ve seen what is happening here.”

“I cannot intercede,” Qui-Gon replied. “The Jedi must remain neutral until the Republic commands us. We are keepers of the peace, not soldiers.”

“Then keep the peace! My people are _starving_!” Padmé screamed. Her outburst caused Bail to place a hand on her shoulder, but she pushed him off. “Every second we waste, another man, woman, or child suffers in the Federation’s camps. Our resistance is not strong enough to withstand the Federation’s droid _army_. We need help. My father told me stories of the Jedi and their deeds. Surely there must be _some_ way you can help us?”

Qui-Gon looked about to refuse her again, but Obi-Wan jumped in.

“We’ll help you get off world,” he blurted out.

Padmé turned on him, fixing that intimidating glare on him. “And how would _that_ help?”

Obi-Wan’s words stuck in his throat, but Bail seemed to understand.

“If you made it to Coruscant, you and Senator Antilles could secure the Republic’s aid. Senator Antilles knows his way around the Senate better than anyone, and you could provide first-hand witness to the atrocities committed here.”

But Padmé didn’t seem to like Bail’s suggestion any more than Qui-Gon’s refusal.

“My place is here, with my people,” she told him firmly.

“It is,” Bail agreed. “But right now your people do not need you here. They need you to be their voice.”

Brother and sister had some sort of silent exchange and Obi-Wan didn’t dare interrupt it. Qui-Gon watched the interaction with interest, though his expression was otherwise unreadable. For the first time in a while, Obi-Wan really wasn’t sure what was going through his master’s head. They had never found themselves in such a situation before; this was entirely new ground. Obi-Wan was all for staying and fighting with the resistance, but Qui-Gon obviously didn’t see that as part of their mandate as Jedi either.

After some time, Padmé at last growled in frustration.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I will plead our case to the Senate.”

“This is the right choice, Padmé,” Bail assured her.

“We’ll find out, won’t we? I guess the question now is, how are we getting off Alderaan?”

With the Bail’s first hand intelligence from a recent reconnaissance mission, the four of them hatched a plan for slipping into the city and stealing a ship. The royal hangar would be under far too much guard, as would the main spaceport. But Bail had a few tricks up his sleeve and he told them of a secret hangar of House Panteer, a long ally of House Organa. Their seat was not in Aldera, but they maintained a small compound in the city, modest so as not to draw attention. House Panteer had not made it through the Sith Wars as unscathed as the rest of the Noble Houses, having fallen victim to a number of assassinations. Since their house was unmarked, the Trade Federation likely wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, and they likely won’t have too many guards around it.

“And you’re sure Deris won’t mind us borrowing his ship?” Padmé asked, amusedly.

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think so,” Bail replied, grinning.

And so Obi-Wan found himself with Qui-Gon, Padmé, and a handful of trusted guards slipping into the capital city under cover of darkness. Bail had opted not to come, stating the resistance would need leadership with Padmé gone. He would stay behind and continue to fight. Padmé had hugged him fiercely and murmured some sort of ancient blessing in his ear before they’d left.

Entering the city wasn’t hard. Padmé had grown up in Aldera and knew every way in, from the largest vista to the tiniest side passage. They slipped into the east side of the city, managing to avoid the majority of the droids which were stationed around the royal palace and its lake to the west. Here, there were only a few droids and their party stealthily avoided their patrols with the help of timing and a few Force tricks by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

At last they came to the compound, and Obi-Wan had to agree, it was indeed subtle. There was not even an insignia of House Panteer on the gate, but Padmé assured them that this was the right place. They slipped in through a servant’s entrance and found the compound deserted. All around them were the remnants of the house’s inhabitants. There was a meal, still half-finished in the dining room. Toys lay out on the floor and as Obi-Wan slipped through the house behind Padmé, he caught a glimpse of a bedroom where no doubt a girl slept. A wilting starblossom sat in a dry vase on the nightstand.

The deeper they went into the compound, the more Obi-Wan’s heart ached for the people who lived there. It was obvious they were taken by surprise, likely having done nothing to provoke the invasion. It was wrong, and Obi-Wan began to grow frustrated that his master wasn’t doing more to help. They could lead a party into one of the camps and free these people! Even a few dozen droids were no match for one Jedi, let alone two.

Obi-Wan was too busy in his resentment that he almost didn’t feel the warning until they’d paused outside a door and Padmé announced, “This is it.”

She activated the door, just as Obi-Wan felt the disturbance.

“No, wait!”

But it was too late. The door slid open, revealing a whole squadron of battle droids. They turned on them as one and opened fire. Obi-Wan activated his lightsaber, barging through the door with his master to deflect the fire as Padmé and her guards dived for cover.

“It was a trap,” Qui-Gon declared as he ricocheted one of the blaster bolts back at a droid.

“Obviously, what now?” Obi-Wan replied.

“Get to the ship!” Padmé called. “It’s our only way out of the city now.”

They didn’t have a chance to argue as she broke cover, quickly followed by her guards. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon moved forward, hurrying to catch up and try to shield them from fire. The small group was decisively outnumbered, but that didn’t seem to faze Padmé as she fired off shot after shot at the droids, some missing, but a great deal finding their targets. They worked their way to the ship as a cluster with the Jedi providing their only cover. Their pilot, an older man Padmé called Jeremoch, activated the ramp and hurried up it to get the ship prepped while Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stayed outside to hold off the advancing droids.

“Any more bright ideas, Your Highness?” Obi-Wan called to Padmé, who stood between them, firing away.

“Get on the ship, before the entire droid army shows up,” she retorted.

“After you!”

Padmé huffed, but she broke off, hurrying up the ramp with others of the guards. The ship’s engines revved up and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan took that as their cue to leave.

“Go!” Qui-Gon ordered, and Obi-Wan parried one last shot before ducking up the ramp. His master was just behind him, punching the door controls shut just as the engine hummed beneath their feet and the ship rose. They scrambled for a seat in the cockpit as they shot off, out of the hangar and over the city.

“Well done, Jeremoch,” Padmé commended, reaching over to thump the older man on his shoulder.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Qui-Gon warned, and a moment later alarms lit up the console as starfighters began to lock on.

“Hold tight,” Jeremoch called and Obi-Wan had just a moment to grab onto the back of Padmé seat before the whole ship pitched right, blaster fire exploding harmlessly past their underside. Jeremoch took evasive action as he angled the ship on an escape vector, weaving as much as possible to avoid fire and target lock.

“Hey Jedi,” he called, not looking away, “This ship have any guns on her?”

Obi-Wan looked around and spotted what was most likely the gunner’s station. He collapsed into the seat, firing up the turrets. They had two, one on the top and one on the bottom. No torpedoes.

“Whenever you’re ready, Jedi!” Jeremoch called, just as the ship was rocked by blaster fire.

Obi-Wan glanced over the unfamiliar controls, but managed to figure out the targeting system. He targeted one of their pursuing starfighters and fired. A moment later, there was an explosion to their port side and Jeremoch hollered.

“That’s more like it! Keep going!”

Obi-Wan maneuvered the other turret and managed to catch another two starfighters before they began to get smart and avoid his range. Luckily, they were almost out of the atmosphere.

“Padmé, lock in our hyperspace coordinates,” Jeremoch ordered. “We’re just a few more seconds out—“

But in that moment the ship lurched and veered off course. Alarms lit up across Jeremoch’s control board and Obi-Wan knew they’d been hit.

“Scratch that, we’re there. You got those coordinates?”

“Give me a moment,” Padmé insisted, her fingers flying over the controls.

“Moment is now, Princess,” Jeremoch called as another explosion hit them.

“And…go!”

Jeremoch punched the controls and the stars stretched into hyperspace as they left Alderaan and the pursuing fighters behind.

But they weren’t safe yet.

“Well kriff,” Jeremoch swore, “Begging your pardon, Highness,” he added.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Those damn fighters managed to hit the hyperdrive casing. She’ll go on for a little while, but I don’t think she’s going to last to Coruscant. We’re going to need to drop out of hyperspace and land to repair.”

“Drop out? But we don’t know how far the Trade Federation has spread. What if there are other worlds that are under their control?”

Obi-Wan was already pulling up the star-map, searching for possible landing sites. The truth was, many of the systems had already been aligned with the Trade Federation in this part of the galaxy. Alderaan had stood apart. However, there was _one_ system that showed some promise. It was a stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless.

“Here,” he spoke up, pointing out the system. “Tatooine,” he read. “It’s small, out-of-the-way, and the Trade Federation have no presence there.”

“How do you know?” Padmé asked.

“Because this system is controlled by the Hutts,” Qui-Gon said, looking at the map over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“The Hutts?” Padmé repeated, incredulous. “We can’t land there! The Hutts are gangsters. We’re more likely to end up with our ship _stolen_ than fixed! And the Hutts wouldn’t hesitate to turn us over to the Trade Federation if they thought it would be of profit.”

“Except, it’s unlikely the Hutts know they are looking for us,” Qui-Gon replied. “And on a back-world like this one, there are plenty that don’t wish to be found. We would blend right in.”

“It’s just long enough to make the repairs,” Obi-Wan added. “Qui-Gon and I can go into town, purchase the supplies, and then we can make our repairs and leave.”

“And what would we use to buy these supplies?” Padmé demanded. “Do you have any money?”

“I have 50,000 Republic dataries at my disposal,” Qui-Gon replied. “That should be enough for whatever we need.”

Obi-Wan was surprised to hear that. Jedi didn’t typically have much in the way of funds, unless it was given to them by the Republic. They lived simple lives, free from attachment.

Padmé growled, but she couldn’t seem to come up with any better idea.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Land on Tatooine. But I’m going into town with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Qui-Gon replied.

“It wasn’t a request,” Padmé retorted. “The fate of my homeworld depends on our success. I’m going into town with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Part 2:

Tatooine was a desert planet. Its twin suns pounded on its surface all day, sapping any moisture away. As far as Obi-Wan understood from the planet’s dossier, the majority of its inhabitants relied on moisture vaporators to steal what moisture they could from the air. There were whole farms of it. Those who didn’t farm, living in one of the cities, ruled by the Hutts. Because the Hutts had their slimy hands in many underworld dealings across the galaxy, their planets often became hives of scum and villainy. Obi-Wan had to agree, it was certainly not the place for a member of a royal house, but the alternative was worse. Still, as he watched Padmé attempt to disguise herself in some ill-fitting clothes stashed in the ship’s cargo hold, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think this whole thing was doomed to fail. Even in a rough, oversized tunic with her hair in a simple braid down her back, Padmé Amidala Organa still looked every bit a noble.

“Slouch a bit,” he hissed as they prepared to leave the ship. “Only important people have such rigid posture.”

Padmé shot him a glare and reached up, tugging on his padawan braid.

“Maybe you should cut this off. Only Jedi apprentices wear something like that.”

Obi-Wan smirked as he raised the hood of the poncho Qui-Gon had procured for him and gave her a brazen wink. His master stood by the ship’s ramp wearing his own poncho to cover his Jedi tunic and lightsaber.

Padmé rolled her eyes as she strode past him. “Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder.

Obi-Wan exchanged a look with her chief of security, a dark-skinned man named Captain Panaka. The captain was none too pleased about staying behind, but Padmé had argued that someone needed to stay behind to guard the ship and too many people in their party would draw attention. As it was, they’d likely have a hard enough time bargaining for the parts that they need. The hyperdrive generator was completely gone by the time they’d landed, meaning they’d need a whole new one.

“Good luck,” Obi-Wan told him.

“Thanks, but I think you’ll need it more,” Captain Panaka replied, and Obi-Wan somehow knew he wasn’t referring to their task of finding parts.

“I think you’re right,” Obi-Wan muttered as he descended the ramp. They’d landed on the outskirts of the city Mos Espa. It was a short, but hot walk into town. Obi-Wan had been to many systems before in his travels as a Jedi, but none could compare to the blinding suns and the crushing heat of Tatooine. Not to mention the sand that had someone managed to squirm its way into his boot. Just the left one.

When they made it to the town, Qui-Gon’s assessment of Tatooine seemed spot on. Obi-Wan already spotted a number of beings who ducked their faces away the moment someone appeared to be looking at them. Not to mention, he wasn’t the only one wearing a hood. All manner of beings walked, slithered, and rolled through the streets of Mos Espa and there were so many languages, Obi-Wan hadn’t a hope of understanding any of the conversations going on around them. It would be very difficult to determine if someone recognized them, or wished them harm.

“We’ll try one of the smaller dealers,” Qui-Gon suggested, nodding towards a modest shop which looked more like a junk shop than a parts dealer. Perhaps on a world like Tatooine, they were one in the same. Either way, Obi-Wan was relieved when they stepped into the cool shade of the shop.

It was definitely more junk shop. Various parts and half-built droids lay around everywhere and Obi-Wan had to be careful where he stepped for risk of tripping over something. Padmé looked around at everything with wide-eyed curiosity. Obi-Wan doubted she’d ever been in a place like this. Living on Alderaan, a lush, rich world with plenty of wealth to go around, there was very little chance she’d seen the poverty that existed in the galaxy, particularly in such a rural world as Tatooine. He watched her explore with interest until her eyes landed on something and immediately hardened. Obi-Wan followed her gaze and understood why she’d stopped at once.

Sitting on a stool in the corner, scrubbing away at a corroded droid motivator, was a slave.

Obi-Wan knew there was slavery still in the galaxy, despite the Republic. There were anti-slavery laws in place, of course, but on a world like this where the Hutts reigned and the Republic didn’t exist, none would blink an eye at a slave. None, except a pampered, Republic off-worlder.

“Don’t stare,” Obi-Wan murmured into her ear.

“What?” she asked, jerking her gaze away.

“Don’t stare. Slaves are to be ignored. If you stare, they’ll know you’re not from around here.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s the way of the galaxy.”

“We have to do something.”

“There’s nothing we _can_ do. He’s one of millions.”

She didn’t want to believe him, but Obi-Wan could see she knew he spoke the truth. The blonde, teenaged slave in the corner wearing an obedience collar was just one of millions. At least this one seemed fed enough, and mostly clean. He was a bit skinny, but not starving, and his hair and skin only had a light layer of dust, likely from the sand. Even though his tunic was a bit threadbare and patched in a few places, there was no grime and no sores, as Obi-Wan had seen on slaves in mining camps and other fouler places. This slave was relatively well-cared for.

A moment after they entered, they were greeted by the shop’s owner, a blue-winged Toydarian who hovered just over the ground and welcomed them in guttural Huttese.

“ _H’chu apenkee. Hi chuba da naga?”_

“I need parts for a Corellian CR90.”

The Toydarian stroked his chin. “Hm, Corellian, eh? I should have some of that.” He barked a phrase in Huttese and the slave in the corner jumped, fumbling the part in his hand before he managed to catch it at the last moment. The slave responded and the Toydarian made some sort of command, waving his hand, to which the boy bowed his head, nodding.

“Alright, why don’t you come out back, we’ll find what you need,” the Toydarian suggested. Qui-Gon gestured for him to lead the way before following the shopkeeper out into the yard. Obi-Wan knew how his master operated enough to know his job was to stay and make sure nothing turned up to surprise them. Padmé, for her part, remained behind too, examining the assortment of pit droids. The slave moved from the stool in the corner to stand behind the counter, leaning against it and still scrubbing at the same droid part.

Suddenly Padmé turned to the slave and gestured to the droids. “What are these for?”

The slave didn’t respond at first, but when Obi-Wan didn’t reply, he looked up and realized Padmé was addressing _him_. Obi-Wan wanted to groan, if he didn’t think it would just draw further attention.

“Those, ma’am?” the slave asked.

“Yes, what are they for? I’ve never seen droids like this.”

The slave looked surprised at her admission. “Those are pit droids. For servicing pod racers.”

“What are pod racers?”

To this, the slave just gaped. “What are…pod racers?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe he’d heard her right.

“Yes,” Padmé replied simply.

“They’re the best ever!” the slave replied with a grin, his eyes lighting up before he seemed to realize that he wasn’t meant to be smiling. He ducked his head again and began to scrub furiously once more.

“It’s a sport,” Obi-Wan explained. “I’ve seen it on Malastare. It’s incredibly fast, and dangerous, not to mention the drivers cheat worse than a dug at sabacc.”

“But that’s part of it,” the slave protested.

“Not many humans can do it,” Obi-Wan added, eyeing the slave with curiosity now. He seemed to show an inordinate amount of interest in such a sport.

“I can,” the slave replied. “Master Watto had me race once, to lose.” He seemed disappointed at the thought, though surely he couldn’t have stood a chance at _winning_?

At this, Obi-Wan’s curiosity doubled. Slaves were expensive, as were pod racers. That the junk dealer could keep either was impressive, but both? Not to mention, the fact that this slave was plainly human. Obi-Wan could likely race pods, but Obi-Wan was a _Jedi_ , with reflexes far faster than the average human. The slave would’ve had to have them to throw the race without making it seem obvious. But surely it wasn’t possible this slave had reflexes like Obi-Wan’s?

“There’s a big race coming up, on Boonta Eve,” the slave added.

“Maybe we’ll come watch,” Padmé replied. “What’s your name?”

The slave hesitated, like he wasn’t certain he was meant to give out his name. Likely his master called him “slave” or “boy”, probably not his given name.

“Anakin,” he murmured at last.

“Anakin,” Padmé repeated, smiling gently.

In that moment, Qui-Gon came storming in from the yard, and Obi-Wan knew immediately that they hadn’t found any success here.

“We’re leaving,” Qui-Gon told them. Obi-Wan fell into step behind his master automatically.

“I’m glad to have met you, Anakin,” Padmé said as she ducked out after them.

“I was glad to meet you too,” Anakin murmured back as his master returned, muttering about “ootmians” and their conniving ways, and he went back to his work.

 

Qui-Gon insisted they try other places, but by the end of the day, they’d come up short. The fact of the matter was, Watto had told Qui-Gon he was the only one who had the hyperdrive generator they needed, and he was right. But Watto wouldn’t take Republic credits, which meant they had nothing to purchase the needed parts. The ship was light on provisions too with only a few crates, mostly aid items, and certainly not enough to barter with. And so they’d wound up in the middle of the town with nearly the whole day gone and nothing to show for it.

Padmé leaned against the wall in a bit of shade while Qui-Gon stood further back in the alley and conversed with Captain Panaka on his comm unit to see if there was anything on the ship they could _possibly_ use to entice Watto. Obi-Wan stood guard at the entrance without appearing to be standing guard. His stance was relaxed and his gaze roved over the crowd as if with disinterest, though in actuality he was monitoring each being as they passed by.

“What are we going to do?” Padmé groaned as she mopped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her tunic.

“We might have to sell the ship,” Obi-Wan replied. “We could probably get some decent money for it, and then barter passage off on a cargo ship or something.”

“A cargo ship?” Padmé repeated incredulously.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, and it seems like right now, we are most decidedly beggars.”

He tensed as he felt a shimmer in the Force and cast out his senses, trying to pinpoint its location and intentions. But no matter what, the disturbance was elusive and eventually faded away. Obi-Wan frowned, trying to decide if he should draw his master’s attention to what he’d felt. It was brief and fleeting, Qui-Gon probably hadn’t even felt it, deep in conversation as he was. Obi-Wan wasn’t even really sure _he’d_ felt it. With a spaceport like this, there could be any number of Force-sensitive creatures around.

“Look over there!” Padmé jumped up and jogged past Obi-Wan who stumbled to stay with her, even though it meant leaving his master alone in the alley. Of all the karking things to do, but Obi-Wan soon realized why Padmé had run off when he spotted her destination.

“Anakin!” she called and the slave in question froze and spun around. He seemed to relax, though, when he realized who it was.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Padmé apologized.

Anakin chuckled nervously. “Not every day a slave hears his name from a stranger.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé repeated again.

“What are you still doing here anyways?” Anakin asked. “I thought you would have left hours ago, with the sandstorm coming in.”

Obi-Wan and Padmé exchanged a frown.

“A sandstorm?”

“Yeah, can’t you feel it?” Anakin gestured around and sure enough, it seemed like the streets were far more deserted than when they’d first arrived. The wind was picking up too, and there was an energy in the air Obi-Wan couldn’t quite describe. A storm was blowing in. Right.

“You should take cover soon,” Anakin told them. “That’s where I’m heading.”

“We’ll head back to our ship,” Obi-Wan assured him.

But Anakin frowned. “Is it far?”

“It’s on the outskirts,” Padmé told him.

“You’ll never reach the outskirts in time,” Anakin replied. “Sandstorms come fast, and they’re very, very dangerous.” He hesitated, as if trying to make up his mind about something, before he nodded.

“You can stay at my place. My bunk mate won’t mind. And it’s just for a little while until the storm blows over.”

“We have one more,” Obi-Wan warned him. “My…uncle, Qui-Gon.” He gestured back to the alley where Qui-Gon was still speaking to the captain.

Anakin looked over the tall man and seemed a bit uncertain, but nodded anyways. “He’ll be fine too.”

“Alright, then we’ll shelter with you,” Padmé declared. “I’m Padmé, by the way. And this is Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan nodded out of habit.

“You better get your uncle,” Anakin told him, gesturing to Qui-Gon. “This one is coming on quick.”

Sure enough, Anakin was right. They hadn’t even made it back to the slave quarter before the storm front blew in and Obi-Wan had to press the edge of his poncho to his face to keep the sand out of his mouth and help him breathe. Anakin led the way without hesitation, though Obi-Wan doubted he could see more than a few feet in front of him. They arrived at a row of low, duracrete buildings that had seen better days, centuries ago. Anakin arrived at one of the doors and banged on it in a specific pattern. A moment later the door slid open and the four of them staggered inside.

The home wasn’t really a house, more of a hovel. The ceiling was low and the floor was rough, tamped down by hundreds of years of feet. There was really only one room and against the far wall was a makeshift stack of sleep couches, one raised over the other. In the corner was a small, low table and galley. The hovel was decorated with trinkets such as shiny droid parts and smooth stones. Its furnishings were sparse, and what was there was older than Qui-Gon, most likely. But its thick walls kept the coolness inside and the driving sandstorm out, and so Obi-Wan couldn’t complain. He’d sheltered in worse.

The person who opened the door was another slave, a tall, dark-skinned boy with black hair that fell in his eyes and a suspicious expression.

“Anakin,” and he rattled off a string of Huttese, too fast for Obi-Wan to follow with his limited studies.

“Kitster, this is Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon. They came to Watto’s shop today. They just need a place to shelter from the storm.”

“Anakin, you’ve gonna get us _both_ killed,” Kitster protested, his words heavily accented. He turned to the three strangers. “You have to leave as soon as the storm is over. If my master finds out you’re here…”

“Gardulla won’t figure out anything,” Anakin assured him. But Kitster didn’t seem convinced as he muttered under his breath and crawled up into the top sleep couch.

“Don’t worry about him,” Anakin told them. “He’ll be alright.”

“We don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Padmé said.

“You already have!” Kitster called from his bunk.

“It’s just that, most masters don’t want people in their slave’s bunks,” Anakin explained. “But Watto doesn’t care, as long as I work hard and do what he says.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered down to the obedience collar around Anakin’s neck. He could see the chaffed skin around its edges as it shifted and wondered if maybe Anakin didn’t always do what Watto said. He wasn’t about to ask, though, and soon Padmé changed the subject.

“We have rations with us, to help,” Padmé said, nudging Obi-Wan who reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a few of the packets they’d brought with them from the ship. Adding water would make it coalesce into a bland, if nutrient-rich, loaf. Anakin eyed the packets greedily and even Kitster seemed interested as he peeked out from his bunk at the prospect of food. Obi-Wan thought maybe he should reconsider his earlier evaluation. Anakin may not look like he’s starving, but there was little doubt he was hungry.

“That will go with the pallies from Jira,” Anakin murmured as he pulled small, green fruits from the fold of his tunic. He brought those and the ration packets to the galley which was fed by their modest vaporator that Kitster had “acquired” from his master’s garbage pile. They’d fixed it up together and were the only ones on the row that had one, but they hid it well behind the bio-converter generator. Now it fed a day’s worth of siphoning into a bowl, which Anakin used to reinvigorate the rations, and to fill a few hand-carved cups. The pallies were cut with a slightly dull knife, but there wasn’t much need for a keen edge with the soft fruit. As Anakin placed the lot on the low table and Kitster ventured down from his bunk, the two boys eyed the assortment as if it was a feast. To them, it likely was.

Anakin dutifully doled out even portions to each person as they knelt around the low table. Kitster eyed Obi-Wan’s food on the plate next to his, but still kept his hands to himself, savoring each bite of the bland ration loaf. The loaf, Obi-Wan had had before and hated it. The pallie, though, was something new. It had a strange tangy, woody taste to it, unlike other fruits Obi-Wan had eaten. Combined with the soft texture and the rough skin that Anakin instructed them to suck on, but not eat, Obi-Wan had to admit that he enjoyed the new experience. So much so that he slipped half of his ration loaf onto Kitster’s plate. The slave didn’t think twice as he picked it up and downed that too. He only glanced Obi-Wan’s way after the meal and nodded his private thanks.

The sandstorm blew into the night and so when it finally abated, it was dark and Anakin insisted it wasn’t safe to be out.

“You’ll be attacked, or the womp rats will bite you and you don’t want womp rat fever.”

And so Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon settled down on the floor with Anakin, who’d insisted Padme take his bunk. It wasn’t the softest surface, nor the hardest, but Obi-Wan struggled to find a position to relax. His lightsaber pressed into his side or his back, or his stomach in all positions until he’d finally removed it and held it in his hand under the poncho. It felt good to hold the cool metal in his palm. His fingers automatically found the nicks and grooves from his various missions and misadventures. Each one told a story he knew well. With his lightsaber in hand, he finally dozed off. He never noticed Anakin’s curious gaze, nor the way his sharp eyes flickered to the brief glint of light as it reflected off the hilt of the lightsaber.

 

The next morning was a flurry of activity early as Kitster tore apart the hovel on his way out to work. Anakin didn’t have to report quite as early, as Watto preferred not to open the shop until later. They munched on the last of the rations at the low table in quiet. A new day meant more work for Anakin, but it also meant facing the severity of their situation for the others.

“Can I ask you a question?” Anakin said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon replied.

Anakin looked up and for the first time, met Obi-Wan’s gaze. “You’re a Jedi Knight, aren’t you?”

Obi-Wan’s hand immediately flew to his saber under his poncho, but Qui-Gon stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Why do you say that?” he asked simply.

“I saw your laser sword,” Anakin admitted guiltily. “Last night, when you were trying to go to sleep. It was just for a second, but, my mom used to tell me stories about the Jedi.”

It was obviously a painful memory, the way Anakin’s expression fell at the mention of his mother. But he pressed on. “She used to say that one day, a great Jedi Knight would come to free all the slaves. Have you come to free us?”

He looked so hopeful, but Obi-Wan couldn’t lie to him.

“No,” he murmured. “I haven’t.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan hated the disappointment in Anakin, in him, but there was nothing he could do. They didn’t even have a working ship.

“I can see there’s no fooling you, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said as he studied the young man. “We were stranded here on our way to Coruscant on a very important mission for the Republic.”

Anakin’s eyes widened as Qui-Gon shared the story of the Trade Federation, of Alderaan, and of bringing Padmé to the Senate to speak for her people.

“But, we don’t have any money to trade with,” he finished heavily.

But Anakin didn’t seem so convinced of the hopelessness of their situation.

“What about the winnings from a pod race, like the Boonta Eve Classic!”

Obi-Wan almost rolled his eyes. A pod race? Again?

“We don’t have a pod to race,” he pointed out.

But Anakin was grinning, proud of something. “Don’t be so sure. Come on.”

They slipped out of Anakin and Kitster’s bunk and down the row of houses. Anakin glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before he ducked behind the last house where there appeared to be a pile of junk. Except Anakin began sifting through the junk and slowly, from the refuse, a small pod racer emerged.

It wasn’t quite finished, and certainly looked like the junk it was hidden in. But Anakin beamed at his revelation as if it was the best thing ever.

“Me and Kitster have been working on it,” he declared proudly. “We were going to try to enter it in a race to win some money and maybe even buy our freedom. But…I think you need it more. If you can convince Watto, I’ll pilot it for you, and win you the Boonta Eve Classic. That will be more than enough to buy the parts you need.”

Padmé ran her hand over the flap of one of the engines and it came away black with grit. But she didn’t seem to care as she looked at Anakin with astonishment.

“You built this?”

Anakin shrugged. “More like scavenged it, really. It’s like Obi-Wan said, the races are dirty. There are plenty of pods that are destroyed, and a lot of owners just go out and buy new ones instead of trying to fix the broken ones. So, they throw it out, and Kitster and I find the parts. It’s not stealing,” he was quick to add.

“It’s amazing,” Padmé declared and Anakin swelled with pride.

“It’s going to need some work,” Obi-Wan commented, looking over the pod. His mechanical knowledge was limited to what the Temple provided and what he’d picked up over the years, but even his basic understanding could see the pod wasn’t by any means ready for a race.

“We have all the parts,” Anakin insisted. “Except maybe a powercell to start it. We just need to finish it, but Kitster has been really busy with the race coming up and Gardulla working him extra hard.”

“We can help,” Qui-Gon assured him, placing a calming hand on Anakin’s shoulder, a gesture he often made to _Obi-Wan_.

“Yes, I think so,” Obi-Wan conceded. “If you leave the parts out and tell me what you need done, I’ll work on finishing it today. You can test it this afternoon, after you’re finished at the shop.”

“And I’ll take care of Watto and that powercell,” Qui-Gon added. Anakin looked like all his dreams had come true at once.

“This is going to be so _wicked_ ,” he grinned.

 

Padmé stayed behind with Obi-Wan to work on the pod, which mostly consisted of Padmé handing Obi-Wan the parts and tools he asked for, and occasionally holding something steady while Obi-Wan tightened or adjusted another part. They worked in companionable silence for much of the time, which Obi-Wan enjoyed. It was nice to focus on something not as complicated as intergalactic politics for once. But Padmé seemed to have something on her mind and she appeared to be mulling it over a while before she at last spoke.

“I owe you an apology, Obi-Wan,” she said.

Obi-Wan was lying under one of the engines and nearly banged his forehead on the kriffing thing. He slipped out from under the engine, grease smudging his poncho, face, and hands.

“Pardon?”

“I said, I owe you an apology,” Padmé repeated. “I was rude and dismissive of you when we first met. I underestimated you, but I’ve realized I was wrong to do so. I saw what you did at dinner last night, for Kitster, giving him part of your ration.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I’ll admit, I thought you were uncaring and arrogant, especially the way you talked about slaves. But it’s obvious that’s not you, but me.”

“You’re not either of those things,” Obi-Wan objected. He shrugged. “Perhaps a bit sheltered, but certainly not uncaring, otherwise you wouldn’t be stuck on this boiling rock. And you wouldn’t have spoken to Anakin at all.”

“I could’ve caused him trouble. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Anakin knows what will and won’t cause him trouble. If he thought talking to you would do that, he wouldn’t have replied back. He’s not stupid. He couldn’t be, to survive this long as a slave.”

“Did you see the marks on his neck, from that collar?”

“He’s worn it a long time,” Obi-Wan said. “But it’s the fact that he’s _still_ wearing it that intrigues me. Watto doesn’t trust his slave.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“If Anakin were loyal to Watto, he’d do anything to curry favor with his master. Including, perhaps, draw foreigners into some scheme to bet all they have on a race, and then purposefully throw the race.”

Padmé gasped. “You don’t think Anakin would do that, do you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “And the reason I don’t think that, is because he wears a collar. Anakin has disobeyed Watto before, and maybe, he’ll act against his master’s wishes once more.”

“We can’t leave Anakin here. Watto would hurt him for winning the race, if he allows him to even compete.”

“Don’t underestimate Qui-Gon. He is very good at negotiating. I have no doubt he will entice Watto enough for him to want Anakin to win, just as much as we do.”

“And how will he do that?”

“We’ll have to wait until tonight to find out,” Obi-Wan grinned, slipping back under the engine. Padmé huffed and smacked him on the knee, but it was light and playful. Obi-Wan found himself smiling even wider under the engine as he did his best to follow the direction Anakin had left him. Above him, Padmé began humming some sort of Alderaanian song and Obi-Wan let her gentle voice drift over him as he worked.

That afternoon, Anakin and Qui-Gon returned earlier than expected.

“Watto let me off early today, to rest up for the race tomorrow,” Anakin explained. “And he gave me these!”

It was a whole satchel of ration packets. Obviously Watto wanted Anakin well-fed for the race. They were old and not as nutritional as the rations Obi-Wan had brought, but they would do for the night, and for many nights after if Anakin and Kitster were careful with their portions.

Anakin fell into work with Obi-Wan and the two of them twisted and tightened and fastened each part to the pod racer in hopes that nothing would be jostled during the race and fall off. Towards supper time, Qui-Gon returned with Kitster, more pallies from Jira who’d heard about Anakin’s race and wished him luck, and a powercell he refused to say how he acquired. Obi-Wan had his suspicions, but didn’t voice them as Anakin climbed into the pod and began firing it up. At first nothing happened, but then with a few more toggles and a thump, the engines roared to life, purring as they kicked up the debris. Anakin whooped and Padmé and Kitster cheered. Even Qui-Gon smiled as he shielded his eyes with his hand. Anakin powered it down, but nothing could damper his mood.

“It works!” he declared.

“So it does,” Obi-Wan agreed, to his own astonishment. They powered down the pod and that evening even Kitster was in a good mood as he feasted on the extra rations from Watto and the pallies from Jira. Even Obi-Wan could admit, today was good. But something pulled at his mind.

He didn’t like the way Qui-Gon was taking an interest in Anakin. He could see how Qui-Gon watched Anakin ever since the night before, and today he’d seem to go out of his way to create little tests, but it wasn’t the tests that had Obi-Wan worried. It was what they were searching for.

“Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan approached his master after supper when the others were preparing for bed. “May I have a brief word outside?”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon replied, following Obi-Wan out of the little hovel without hesitation. Obi-Wan led them away from the row of slave quarters, not trusting the old, thin walls to safekeep their conversation.

“What is it Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked when they were at last in private.

“I’m concerned, Master,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Oh? What about?”

“Everything! This whole gamble, betting our only thing of value on a human slave boy who claims he can race pods? You and I both know what pod racing requires. How can we be sure that Anakin can do it?”

Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan knowingly. “I think you have the answer to that question already, Padawan.”

“So you _do_ believe Anakin is Force-sensitive?”

“It is a logical conclusion, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I can’t sense anything.” Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. There was a growing unease that had begun the day they’d arrived in Mos Espa and only seemed to be growing stronger. For Obi-Wan, such a feeling often indicated danger, but it was hard to say from where. From Anakin? From Watto? From the race tomorrow? There were so many different factors at play, it was nearly impossible to determine. And Obi-Wan didn’t have time to sit for hours in meditation, trying to make sense of what he was feeling.

Qui-Gon had known him since he was a boy, and could recognize when there was something bothering him.

“Speak your mind, Obi-Wan. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

But how could Obi-Wan speak his mind when everything seemed so muddled?

“I don’t think we should allow Anakin to race. I could race, or you could race.”

Qui-Gon chuckled at the suggestion. “You have witnessed my piloting skills firsthand, so I think you know why I would not be the best choice.”

“Then let me race.”

“No.”

“But why?”

His Master hesitated, and Obi-Wan realized he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to tell Obi-Wan the truth. It hurt more than he expected and Obi-Wan felt the beginnings of bitterness stirring within him. For years his master had told him everything, had kept nothing hidden. And then one potentially Force-sensitive slave boy comes in and suddenly his master no longer trusts him.

“Never mind,” Obi-Wan replied lowly. He turned away, pulling up the hood of the poncho.

“Obi-Wan—“

“I’m going to take a walk, to do some meditation. Do not wait up for me.”

And he left, slipping away into the streets of Mos Espa as his master was left standing alone outside the slave quarters.

Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way. This bitterness, this resentment, it was not the Jedi way. Anakin was a potential Force-sensitive and Obi-Wan should be happy that they found him instead of other groups that might look to exploit Anakin and his abilities. But his master’s obviously deep interest in the boy made his stomach roll. Qui-Gon almost hadn’t chosen Obi-Wan to be his apprentice, and Obi-Wan had spent the better part of the last twelve years trying to prove that he was worthy of his master’s teachings. He liked to think Qui-Gon was even the father figure he didn’t have for much of his youth.

It was petty and childish to feel this way and Obi-Wan kicked at a stone in frustration of his very un-Jedi-like attitude. Maybe Qui-Gon _should_ pay attention to Anakin. He was humble, compassionate, self-sacrificing, all the things that Jedi were meant to be. Not like Obi-Wan, who was selfish, like a spoiled child with a new sibling. But Anakin wouldn’t be like a sibling to him. Even if Qui-Gon wanted to train Anakin, he couldn’t until Obi-Wan passed the Trials. That was the Code of the Jedi, that there is one master, and one apprentice.

Obi-Wan was shaken out of his thoughts when a nearby door slid open and a group stumbled out, laughing and cheering onto the street, obviously drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the display, and the smell, but the door beyond them was intriguing as upbeat music enticed Obi-Wan to enter. Deciding there could be no harm in maybe one drink, just to help him relax, Obi-Wan slipped inside the bar.

Like Mos Espa, there was a great variety of beings in the bar that night, many crowded around tables, talking and drinking all manner of beverages. It was almost like being back on Coruscant, the heart of the Republic. Grateful for the familiar atmosphere, Obi-Wan sidled up to the bar. The barkeep gave him a wary glance, but delivered his order without any grumbling. Obi-Wan was actually beginning to enjoy himself, leaning against the bar and sipping his drink as he listened to the band when there was a flash of warning in the Force just before two rather impressive alien beings shoved in on either side of him.

Obi-Wan could proudly say he was familiar with a great number of alien species. His training at the Jedi Temple had been exhaustive, and it was only added to by Obi-Wan’s own experiences in his travels. But he’d never come across beings quite like these two that towered over him with thick, reptilian scales speckled with blood red and orange patches. As Obi-Wan glanced up at the one on his right, the being “grinned”, showing off thick, sharp incisors ending in points and a rather long canine that could almost be considered a tusk if it were to grow any longer. Black, pupil-less eyes glared down at him. The beings were certainly intimidating, but it became clear that was their purpose when a much shorter Balosar, the two antennapalps on top of his head quivering excitedly, stepped up, blocking Obi-Wan’s exit.

“ _Ooitmians_ aren’t welcome here,” the Balosar growled.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Obi-Wan replied, and one of the large beings on either side of him made a strange grunting-whistle sound that could’ve been a laugh.

The Balosar tittered, making a show of his hand going down to the blaster at his waist. “You’ve already found it.”

Obi-Wan’s hand itched to reach for his lightsaber, but he knew a sudden move would escalate the issue. Not to mention, drawing his lightsaber would give his identity away instantly. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize their mission for a bar room brawl. He had one option left.

“You will let me finish my drink and leave in peace,” he said with a subtle wave of his hand as he drew on the Force to reinforce the mental suggestion. Obi-Wan had seen Qui-Gon perform this particular trick a number of times, though if questioned about it, he’d deny it until he joined the Force. It was a questionable Force technique for the Jedi, especially since it preyed on the weak-minded of the galaxy. But it was much more preferable to the alternative at the moment, so Obi-Wan resolved he would take the lecture from his master if he had to.

“I’ll let you finish your drink and leave in peace,” the Balosar intoned back, his hand falling away from his blaster.

“But Boss—“one of the thugs protested, its Basic garbled by its maxilofacial anatomy.

“You will all leave and never harass another being again,” Obi-Wan added.

“We will all leave a—“

“Obi-Wan?”

“Kriff,” he cursed as he lost his hold on the suggestion. The Balosar blinked in confusion as Padmé, of all people, appeared.

“What happened?” he asked, looking between the two thugs, Obi-Wan, and the confused and concerned Padmé.

“He tried to trick you, Boss!” the left thug accused, jabbing a talon at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan didn’t wait to see what his reaction would be. He ducked a swing by one of the thugs, shouldering his way through the still blinking Balosar.

“Obi-Wan, what—“

“Come on,” he urged, grabbing her wrist to head for the door. But it seemed the Balosar had brought more friends, or perhaps the bar patrons were simply looking for a fight. Either way, Obi-Wan stopped short as he realized their way out was barred. Two masked bounty hunters and a Rodian stood barring the entrance through which Obi-Wan had arrived while a six-armed Besalisk covered the back all on his own.

“Look, we don’t want any tro—“Obi-Wan didn’t get a chance to sue for peace as the Balosar tackled him from behind, attempting to bite his neck. Obi-Wan twisted to protect himself as the instructors had taught him in the Jedi Temple. In the same moment, he tugged Padmé away from their aggressors, attempting to put her between the wall and himself. He spun, grabbing the Balosar’s arm to wrench it free, at the same time delivering lightning-fast, pinpoint blows at the joints. The Balosar screeched, stumbling back and clutching his arm, but there wasn’t a chance for escape. The cantina had devolved into an all-out brawl, fists, tentacles, and everything in between flying in all directions. It was by sheer luck that no blaster had been pulled yet.

“Look out!” Padme warned as one of the reptilians charged Obi-Wan. He ducked a wild swing, redirecting it into a charging Rodian and the two became entangled, falling on an unfortunate Lannik who all but disappeared under their bulk.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan urged, catching an opening and slipping through with Padmé in tow. Heads down, they wove through the crowd, making towards the exit. Obi-Wan had to fend off a few blows and was almost to the exit when he felt a strong warning in the Force and the cold metal of a blaster barrel was pressed to the back of his head.

“Take one more step, I dare you,” the Balosar growled. His voice was strangely hoarse, but Obi-Wan wasn’t about to ask why. He gathered the Force and was preparing to try another Force suggestion when there was a thump, a low grunt, and the blaster disappeared. Obi-Wan turned to see the Balosar bent over, clutching his face and, to his astonishment, Padmé standing over him and shaking out her hand.

“Did you just—?”

“Talk later, let’s go!” Padmé pushed the rest of the way through the crowd and the two of them tumbled out into the street with a few brawlers. The cool, desert air cleared Obi-Wan’s mind as the two of them hurried off into the evening, leaving the cantina and their attackers well behind.

They didn’t stop until they were within sight of Anakin’s slave hovel. Both of them were breathing heavily as they leaned against the low wall. They shared a look and Obi-Wan found himself laughing. Padmé’s neat hair was askew and Obi-Wan was sure he looked a bit worse for the wear. His still healing ribs burned with his exertion but his mind was clear and his heart raced. He felt the energy running through the Force like he hadn’t in a long time. It was so close, Obi-Wan felt like he barely even needed to reach for it.

Padmé looked at him like he had lost his mind, but then she grinned and before long she too was laughing.

“I can’t believe we made it out of there,” she said.

“How’s your hand? That was some punch you threw! And thank you for that.”

Padmé glanced down where a couple of bruises were forming on the skin over her knuckles.

“Here, let me help,” Obi-Wan offered, reaching for her hand. But Padmé pulled it back tucking it away in the sleeve of her tunic.

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “We should get back before the others go looking for us.”

“Is that what you did? Go looking for me?”

Surprisingly, Padmé ducked her head and if it had been lighter, Obi-Wan would’ve seen the hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“I…heard some of your conversation, with Master Qui-Gon. I don’t like this situation either. There are too many risks.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He wasn’t angry at Padmé for listening in, but he had hoped that his concerns could’ve remained private. The last thing he wanted to do was undermine Qui-Gon to the people they were trying to help.

“Qui-Gon is a great Jedi Master,” Obi-Wan said at last. “And I trust him with my life. He will see us through. I need to have more faith in him, and in the Force.”

Padmé seemed to be searching his expression, looking to see if he truly believed what he was saying. In truth, Obi-Wan did, to an extent. Qui-Gon was his Master, and he did trust him with his life. It wasn’t his place to disagree, but he couldn’t help but question his master’s methods, every so often.

“We should return,” Obi-Wan said at last.

As they slipped back into the hovel, Anakin and Kitster seemed to remain peacefully asleep, but Obi-Wan knew his master sensed their return. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply as if sleeping. Padmé tip-toed carefully around him to climb into bed as Obi-Wan settled on the floor. She smiled at him in the dim light and Obi-Wan sent her a light grin. The two of them wouldn’t talk about their adventure to the others. As Obi-Wan rolled over to get comfortable, he saw Qui-Gon briefly look his way. He nodded to his master, reaffirming his trust. He had to trust his master. If he couldn’t, then they were doomed to fail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Part 3:

The day of the Boonta Eve Classic dawned early as Anakin and his makeshift pit team of Kitster and Obi-Wan, went down to clear off the junk from the pod and give it a fresh paint coat. If Watto was meant to think the pod was Qui-Gon’s, as his master had implied, then it would have to look like an owned pod and not just a conglomerate of castoffs. By the time the sun began to rise over the rows of the slave quarters, the racer was decked out in blue and yellow and its metal pod gleamed in the sun, bright enough to maybe even distract some other racers. Anything was possible.

Painted and buffed, they broke the pod down and Anakin and Kitster hitched the pieces to a couple of eopies, tall, pink pack animals that Watto had sent to bring the pod to the arena. By then, Padmé was up and brought them each one of the ration loafs, which Anakin and Kitster devoured at once while Obi-Wan chewed more reluctantly. The four of them climbed up on the eopies, with Kitster and Anakin steering as they knew the beasts the best, and they set out to the arena.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what Boonta Eve was, or why it was celebrated, but he realized on their way to the arena that the entire city, and likely even a number of rural farmers, had come to witness the race. The arena was packed already as they arrived and retired to the pod racer’s pit to assemble their pod and do last minute adjustments. Inside, the pit was packed with other pods and their racers. Obi-Wan had been right when he said not many humans could pod race. Anakin was the only human pilot in the race today. Obi-Wan recognized a number of alien species, including a very shifty dug, whom Anakin called “Sebulba”. The two of them exchanged words, but nothing more in the pit.

Qui-Gon finally showed up with Watto just as they were about to bring the pod out to the starting line. Watto was smirking and laughing as he said something to Anakin in Huttese before flying off to find his seat in the stands.

“What did he mean by that?” Anakin asked Qui-Gon.

“I’ll tell you later,” Qui-Gon replied dismissively. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Anakin replied, though Obi-Wan could see the nervousness and fear in his eyes.

“Feel, don’t think,” Obi-Wan urged him. “Use your instincts to pilot the pod. Trust them.” Qui-Gon had told him similar words many times before when his own nerves had threatened to get in the way.

“I will,” Anakin promised.

The starting line was quickly filling up with other pods, most of which dwarfed Anakin’s. Their engines were taller than several men and looked like they could suck Anakin’s pod in through the intake vents. He’d have to watch out for that on the field, though it would be a poor move on the driver’s part as it would demolish his own pod too. Obi-Wan did some last minute tightening while Kitster made sure the engines were fully fueled. Anakin sat in the pod, running last minute diagnostics. He was a tense ball of energy, Obi-Wan didn’t even need the Force to feel it. He walked up to Anakin, leaning in.

“What’s the matter?” he asked quietly. The last thing he wanted was for another crew to hear some sort of vulnerability with Anakin’s pod.

“Can I…tell you something?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan waited patiently.

“I’ve…never finished a race before.”

Obi-Wan’s heart dropped, but he carefully schooled his expression to look unfazed. “You’ll win this time,” he said confidently.

“How can you tell?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He wasn’t all that confident, but he did have a…feeling about the race. It was difficult to tell if it was a good feeling or a bad one, but it was definitely something.

“The Force guides us, Anakin. It guides me, and Qui-Gon, and, I suspect, it strongly guides you. But you have to listen to its voice. It will tell you what to do, if you clear your mind and allow it to flow through you.”

“Clear my mind.”

“ _Feel_ , don’t think.”

“Feel, don’t think. Alright. Any other words of wisdom?”

Obi-Wan grinned and leaned in so that he was speaking lowly into Anakin’s ear.

“May the Force be with you.”

Anakin nodded and as Obi-Wan pulled away, he finally felt the tension draining away from the young man. He finished out his part and cleared out to join Qui-Gon and Padmé in the observation tower to watch the match. As he retreated, he knew in his heart that his first instinct about Anakin had been true. When Anakin proudly declared he raced pods, Obi-Wan’s thoughts had immediately turned to perhaps a latent Force ability. And now, as he felt Anakin bleeding his nervousness into the Force, Obi-Wan knew he was right. Anakin was Force-sensitive. As he joined his master and caught Qui-Gon’s knowing look, he realized that his master had been right all along, as usual.

“Could you always feel it so clearly?” he demanded.

“Not until today,” Qui-Gon admitted, “but yes, I do believe that Anakin is, without a doubt, Force-sensitive. Very strongly, too.”

“And what are we going to do about it? We can’t leave him here now.” A strong Force-sensitive like Anakin was bound to draw attention, and on a Hutt world, it would not be the right sort of attention. It was by the will of the Force Anakin hadn’t already been found.

“I think I found a solution to that this morning,” Qui-Gon replied. “I made another bet with Watto.”

“ _Another_ bet? With what?”

“The pod, for Anakin.”

“You wagered a pod against a slave?”

“Watto was reluctant, at first. But greed can be a powerful ally. He was enthusiastic to take the deal, because he is sure that Anakin will lose.”

Suddenly Anakin’s admission sat heavily in Obi-Wan’s stomach. If Anakin lost, they lost the pod too. That meant they had no chance of trying again. If Anakin had lost, but the pod survived, perhaps Obi-Wan could have piloted it for some winnings. They could’ve stood a chance at a second attempt. But with this latest wager, if Anakin lost they would truly have nothing. No ship, and no pod.

“That wasn’t yours to bet,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“I think Anakin will forgive me when he wins.”

“You mean _if_.”

“When, Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon was so certain and it frustrated Obi-Wan. He’d tried looking into the Force, but the outcome of the race had been elusive to him. He didn’t know if Anakin would win or not. So much rode on this long chance, and the Unifying Force was silent to him. Typical.

“Start your engines!” boomed over the speakers and the crowd roared as the pods sprang to life on the starting line. Obi-Wan was relieved to see that Anakin’s started up just fine with none of the fiddling or banging that had been required the day before. He still looked like a tiny spec before the other massive pods, but there was an old Coruscanti story about a small man that stood up to a giant and won for the love of his people. Perhaps Anakin was like that man.

Obi-Wan had no time to contemplate it further as the gong rang and the race began. And Anakin was stalled at the starting line.

“Oh _Sithspit,_ ” Obi-Wan groaned, dropping his head into his palms. They were done for. They’d likely be sold into slavery too, when Watto was through with them.

“Relax,” Qui-Gon counseled.

Obi-Wan glanced up just to glare at his master, but his heart rose as Anakin suddenly shot off like a blaster bolt. Obi-Wan’s eyes eagerly dropped to the view screen Padmé held that was focusing on Anakin’s pod as it raced over the desert, in hot pursuit of the pack.

The race itself was quick and dirty. More than a few times, Anakin was forced to contend with cheating on the part of the other racers, and at one point he even lost a coupling! But by some miracle of the Force, Anakin made it back, and not only did he finish, but he beat Sebulba and took first place! The crowd surged down onto the track to welcome him. Anakin laughed as he was thrown up over the crowd’s heads to ride the surge all the way back to the pit. Obi-Wan watched from Qui-Gon’s side while his master looked extremely satisfied.

“You were right, Master,” Obi-Wan conceded.

“When are you going to learn that I usually am?” Qui-Gon replied with a wink Obi-Wan’s direction and Obi-Wan was left standing, dumbfounded. Padmé came up behind him and took his arm.

“Come on, let’s go congratulate Anakin.”

Kitster was already with Anakin in the pit when the three of them joined him. They were drinking some sort of spirit, no doubt from one of Anakin’s now adoring fans. Anakin was regaling Kitster with an over-the-top telling of the moment he lost the pod coupling.

“And I was spinning so fast, I thought I’d _never_ catch it! But I grabbed the trap and snatched it right out of thin air, all while going through Arch Canyon!”

“It was so wizard, Anakin!” Kitster agreed.

Anakin spotted them and waved them over.

“Can you believe it? I won! We got the parts you need!”

“And you’ve been freed,” Qui-Gon added quietly.

Anakin froze. “What?”

“The second wager, the one Watto warned you about this morning,” Qui-Gon explained, “bet the racing pod against you. If you won, you were free. And now you are.”

Tears welled up in Anakin’s eyes at the realization. He looked down at his frayed tunic and the bottle in his hands, like he was looking at everything with brand new eyes. And perhaps his was. He was free.

“I—don’t know what to say.” He turned to Kitster and laughed. “I’m free. Kitster, I’m free!” And the two of them cheered and jumped around in a circle, drawing the attention of most of the others in the pit.

“Did you hear that?” Anakin declared to the room at large. “I’m free!”

But he was brought up short suddenly. “But…what about Kitster?”

Qui-Gon frowned. “I’m sorry, Anakin, but my wager wasn’t with Kitster’s mistress. I couldn’t free him as well.”

 But Anakin was shaking his head, tears flowing freely. “No! I can’t leave him behind! He’s my best friend, my bunk mate, _my_ _brother_.” He grabbed Kitster’s arm, clenching his wrist. “I won’t leave him!”

But, to everyone’s surprise, Kitster reached down and pried Anakin’s grip off his wrist.

“Yes, you will, you idiot!” he said firmly.

Anakin looked heartbroken. “Kits.”

“You’re free. Just like you always said you’d be. And you’re going to go with them and maybe someday you’ll come back here and free me too. But first, you’re going to leave me behind, because I’m not about to karking let you stay here and waste your life away on this dust ball, you _skocha-kloonkee!_ ”

Anakin laughed through his tears, scrubbing them away furiously with the back of his hand.

“You better be here when I come back, _peedunky._ ”

Kitster sniffed. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just go and free myself!”

Obi-Wan hated to break up the friends, but he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that was steadily growing now that the race was over.

“I think it would be best if we collected our winnings and left as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan suggested. “We don’t want to give Watto a chance to renege on his bargain.”

“No, you’re right,” Anakin agreed. He turned to Kitster. “I have to go, but that pod is yours. Keep it and race it, or sell it. It’s a champion, after all. Whatever you do, it’s up to you now.”

Kitster nodded and thumped Anakin on the shoulder. “You’re going to do fine.”

“You too.”

With one last hug, the friends departed, likely to never see each other again.

Padmé and Qui-Gon collected the parts from Watto and went back to the ship while Obi-Wan returned to Anakin’s bunk to allow him to pack up what meager possessions he had. It was mostly a few tunics, but Anakin also pried one of the smooth stones from the wall, tucking it away in his tunic. He looked around at the bunk and the pile of rations on the galley table and nodded.

“I’m not going to miss this place,” he declared.

“It’s okay if you do,” Obi-Wan assured him.

Anakin nodded, but didn’t say anything more as they left the slave quarters to make their final stop at Watto’s to have Anakin’s obedience collar removed. Watto, when they arrived, had perched himself on the stool where Obi-Wan had first seen Anakin working, and seemed to be doing his best to drink all the spirits he owned. He looked up as they came through the door and slurred something in Huttese.

“The collar,” Obi-Wan said. “Remove it.”

Watto snorted. “Don’t you want an obedient slave?”

“Anakin is not a slave any more. He has no need of a collar. Remove it.”

Watto muttered, but he flapped across the store, bobbing up and down as he went. He reached down to his belt and pulled a remote, setting it to the side of the collar. With a beep and a hiss, the collar sprung open and Anakin coughed as he threw the device on the floor, for the first time able to touch his throat since he’d first became Watto’s. The skin where the collar had sat was raw and scarred. Anakin would likely bear them for the rest of his life, though bacta treatments would help to minimize them. Anakin hardly seemed to care about the aesthetics of it now as he tenderly ran his fingers over the bumps and ridges left behind.

“Don’t touch it,” Obi-Wan told him. “We’ll treat it on the ship.” He turned to Watto and bowed like he was before a planetary dignitary. “Thank you for your cooperation. Good day.”

And they left, chased by a stream of Huttese Obi-Wan was sure wasn’t friendly. Obi-Wan led the way now as they trekked out of the city and onto the outskirts where the ship was no doubt nearly finished with repairs. Away from the city and his old master, Anakin now couldn’t seem to stop asking questions, which was growing exceedingly frustrating as Obi-Wan was trying to focus on the disturbance which was growing stronger the farther from the city they traveled.

“Have you been to every star system? Have you ever seen an ocean? What are nerfs and why is it bad to be a nerf-herder?”

“Anakin, please be quite. I’m trying to concentrate!”

“Oh? On what? Are you lost? I know my way around pretty well. Where are you trying to go?”

But Obi-Wan heard the whine coming up fast behind him, just as that bad feeling surged into a warning. He spun just in time to see a black figure on a swoop coming up fast.

“Anakin, get down!” he ordered, igniting his lightsaber. As a testament to all his years as a slave, Anakin didn’t hesitate to fall face-first in the sand, just as the swoop blazed over him. The black figure leapt from the bike, flying high overhead, before igniting a red lightsaber. Obi-Wan didn’t have time to think or be surprised at the weapon as they clashed, blade crackling against blade in what was most decidedly _not_ a practice spar.

“Go!” Obi-Wan called. “Get to the ship and tell them to take off!”

“But what about—“

“Go!”

Anakin darted past, but Obi-Wan didn’t have time to make sure he was doing what he was told. The dark figure before him was faster than he was, and stronger. Each blow was like five of Obi-Wan’s and the Force roiled around them, crackling with a dark energy Obi-Wan had never felt before. It was all he could do to hold his own. He was losing as his opponent drove him back, until Obi-Wan felt the sudden call from his master. He jumped and landed on the ramp of the ship as it passed overhead. Obi-Wan saw his opponent tense too, but by then they were well away. The ramp lifted shut and Obi-Wan collapsed, panting on the cold floor of the ship. His ribs were sore from the fight and he fought for air as Qui-Gon and Padmé rushed in, followed by Anakin.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asked.

“I’ll…be…fine,” Obi-Wan gasped, trying to center himself to recover. But it was difficult. He still felt the effects of that dark energy like his opponent stood right before him still.

“What was that?” Padmé asked.

“A Sith.”

Padmé gasped at Obi-Wan’s declaration, but Qui-Gon’s nod confirmed his agreement. There was only one thing it could be. A creature so steeped in the Dark side, in hatred and anger, could not be anything but a Sith Lord. But that raised a whole new slew of questions that would have to wait until they arrived on Coruscant. The fact was, Obi-Wan needed to make an immediate report to the Jedi Council. Only they could confirm whether this creature was truly the Jedi’s most ancient enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Part 4:

Coruscant was the heart of the Galactic Republic. It was a planet that was one big city. Or perhaps it was merely a city that had grown to the size of a planet. Either way, it was the center of politics, commerce, culture, learning, trade, and so much more for over half the galaxy. Coruscant was a place many wished to go to escape their lives on their homeworld, whether it was a lowly refugee, simply looking to make a better life for himself, or the rich elite who came for Coruscant’s one-of-a-kind resorts.

For Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was the only home he’d ever known, because it was also the home of the Jedi Order. The Jedi Temple stood proudly over its district, the five pillars standing out over the otherwise low buildings in the area. It was the home of all Jedi, across the galaxy, the center of their learning, holding centuries of teachings and holocrons that dated back to the very first days of the Jedi Order after the Great Schism that separated the Light-sided Jedi from their dark, Sith counterparts. It felt like years since Obi-Wan had been back, though it had only been a few months that he and Qui-Gon were on their diplomatic missions when they’d come to Alderaan.

His return would have to wait just a little while longer, as their ship changed course, instead heading for a low, round building, the heart of politics on Coruscant, the Galactic Senate. As soon as they’d entered real space, they’d commed to Alderaan’s senator, Bail Antilles, who’d been most relieved to finally hear something from his homeworld, but deeply saddened and disturbed by the news that had been passed. He’d called an emergency session of the Senate with the help of the Supreme Chancellor, who was a close personal friend. As they came in to land at 500 Republica, the apartment building of many Senators and officials that stood not far from the Senate building, Obi-Wan could feel Padmé’s anxiety building. She sat in the corner, typing on a datapad and muttering to herself. Even Anakin didn’t dare go near her for fear of having his head snapped off, like the guard who’d ventured to ask if she wanted lunch.

“Do the people in the camps get lunch?” Padmé snapped.

“Uh…I’m not sure…no?”

“Then neither do I!”

It was ridiculous, and it had to cease, Obi-Wan determined, as they approached their landing pad. He stepped into the abandoned lounge and Padmé didn’t even look up from her datapad.

“Padmé, we’re about to land,” Obi-Wan said.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she snarled instinctively, but her anger seemed to die away when she realized it was Obi-Wan who sat before her.

“Oh, sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, we’re about to land. Senator Antilles is waiting for you.”

Padmé sighed and stood up from her corner for the first time since she’d begun her self-imposed exile. She groaned as she stretched her back and Obi-Wan found himself instinctively reaching out and sending a bit of encouragement through the muscles to allow them to relax. Padmé’s eyes widened at the sudden relief as she twisted a bit more and found the muscles limber.

“Is that what Qui-Gon did to you on Alderaan?” she asked.

“To an extent, but that was simple healing,” Obi-Wan replied, brushing it off. In truth, he was a bit embarrassed and disturbed by how easy it had been for him to reach other and touch Padmé. It was felt so natural, and he hadn’t even thought about it until he was done. It was dangerous. Familiarity could lead to attachments, and Jedi were not permitted attachments. Perhaps their arrival on Coruscant was coming at a good time.

“I’m nervous,” Padmé admitted, gesturing down to the datapad.

“You’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured her. “You’re eloquent and passionate, not to mention you have your whole security team scared of you right now, so it shouldn’t be too hard scaring a few thousand Senators.”

“I’ll have to apologize,” Padmé muttered.

Both glanced towards the door as they felt the landing struts lower. A moment later there was a light touchdown and the entire craft settled with the exhale of pneumatics. There was no more putting it off at this point. They’d arrived on Coruscant. Time to do what they came here for.

“Good luck in your Senate address,” Obi-Wan said.

“And good luck with the Council.” Padmé knew that it was the Jedi Council who would determine whether the mystery assailant was a Sith or not. How they would do that, Padmé wasn’t really sure. Obi-Wan assured her they would know every detail, even though only Obi-Wan had actually witnessed and fought the creature. Anyways, it was none of her business, because at the moment she needed to focus on meeting Senator Antilles and persuading the Senate to her side so the Republic would send aid to Alderaan. That was her sole mission.

Obi-Wan turned to leave. “May the Force be with you,” she blurted out and Obi-Wan stopped in the doorway. He turned and there was just the hint of a smile on his lips.

“May the Force be with you, Padmé,” he replied.

Padmé and her guards would be staying with Senator Antilles as they prepared for the Senate address, which meant Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Qui-Gon had to make their own way to the Jedi Temple. Anakin for his part, couldn’t stop gaping at everything around them. Obi-Wan found it annoying at first, but his annoyance soon gave way to amusement at Anakin’s unbridled enthusiasm. It also didn’t help that they rode in an open-air taxi. The enormous towers of Coruscant rose up overhead and their roots sunk deep into the under city. Lines of traffic weaved through the towers and, to an outsider, Obi-Wan supposed it would look truly amazing.

They arrived at the Jedi Temple and again, Anakin was dumbfounded. In the temple atrium, statues of great Jedi masters watched over the temple inhabitants and guarded the temple walk. It was peaceful, tranquil, not at all like the hustle and bustle of the city. Here, things moved smoothly and in their own time. Much like the Jedi themselves.

Qui-Gon took the lead as they stepped into the turbolift to transport them to the very top of the central spire, the home of the High Council. The Jedi Order was governed by several councils that met in the five spires of the temple, but the High Council was comprised of the wisest of Jedi Masters. It was a Jedi’s greatest honor to serve on the High Council, and Obi-Wan hoped that, perhaps one day, he might sit among them, a master in his own right. He knew that his own master could be on the Council, but Qui-Gon had the bad habit of disobeying the Council when he did not think their wisdom was in the best interest of the Force. Such a Jedi could not sit on the Council, and Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that Qui-Gon truly didn’t want to.

They waited outside the Council chamber, the three of them seated on a bench by the door. They’d called ahead to advise they would be coming to make their report, but in the end, they were at the whim of the Council. And so, they waited.

“What will happen?” Anakin whispered. Even so, his voice echoed down the corridor as if he’d screamed at the top of his lungs.

“When the Council is ready, we will enter, and Obi-Wan and I will give our report of the situation.”

“Oh, will I come too?”

“I would like you to, because I intend to petition the Council to begin your Jedi training.”

Anakin’s eyes widened and he looked to Obi-Wan to confirm Qui-Gon’s words. But Obi-Wan was just as startled as Anakin. He knew that Anakin was Force-sensitive. After the pod race, it was clear to see and Obi-Wan was gaining a better sense of Anakin’s Force signature each day. But Anakin was a teenager, nearly an adult. Most Jedi began training when they were just children, so they learned to control their emotions early. A Jedi could not allow fear, anger, or hatred to cloud their minds or risk falling victim to the Dark Side and becoming the very thing they had sworn to destroy, a Sith. Anakin was too old to begin the Jedi training. He’d known so much fear and suffering already, how could he possibly hope to hold off the temptation of the Dark Side as he delved into his abilities?

There was no time to answer, however, as suddenly the doors opened and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were called in, leaving Anakin to remain

The High Council sat in a circle, the chamber overlooking the skyline of Coruscant. Here, at the top of the Jedi Temple, one could see almost anything. The Jedi Council sat twelve masters, but not all were present. It was common for the Council to not be fully assembled. Often times masters would be away from the Temple. In this case, what should have been a simple mission debrief meant only three Masters were present, Master Windu, Master Gallia, and Master Ti. Of them, Master Windu was the senior member and so it was to him that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bowed with Anakin following a little awkwardly.

“Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, welcome back,” Master Windu said. “How did your mission fare?”

“It did not go well, Master.” Qui-Gon proceeded to tell of their arrival to Alderaan and crash, their meeting with the Organas and the troubling news of the Trade Federation’s invasion. He told of Padmé’s plead for help and their assistance in bringing her to Coruscant so that she could bring her case before the Galactic Senate. But once they reached the moment of their departure from Tatooine, Qui-Gon paused.

“As we were attempting to leave, my padawan and the boy, Anakin, were attacked by a lightsaber proficient. I believe, Masters, that his attacker may have been a Sith Lord.”

A surge of shock and disbelief travelled among the masters present. Master Windu, who was known for his stern reserve, looked troubled and concerned.

“If you are correct, it could change everything,” Master Ti said softly. The Togruta’s red and white face was drawn, though Obi-Wan could see that she didn’t quite believe Qui-Gon’s assessment.

“With your permission, we would like to see this attacker,” Master Windu said, addressing Obi-Wan for the first time directly.

“Of course, Masters.”

The three masters stood and formed a circle with Qui-Gon around Obi-Wan. They reached out, placing hands on each other’s shoulders with Master Windu free. The contact would make it easier for those who are not connected by a Master-Padawan bond like Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were to feel and see the others’ thoughts and emotions. Obi-Wan, for his part, brought up the memory of his skirmish with the Sith, focusing on as many details as he could.

As the five of them fell into a rhythm of breathing and meditation, Master Windu reached out to Obi-Wan, placing a hand over his forehead. In that moment, Obi-Wan felt the presences of not only his own master, but the other three and, distantly through the Force, those Jedi the Council members shared bonds with. He’d never done anything like it before and it was almost too much. But Qui-Gon was there, a steadying, familiar presence. He prompted Obi-Wan who quickly brought up the memory of the dark figure who’d attacked him. His face had been blood red and marred with jagged, black tattoos. His eyes were red and yellow, a tell-tale sign of Dark Force usage. And he fought with such power and aggression, both physically and through the Force. Obi-Wan had never truly fought another Force-user outside of practice bouts. He hadn’t expected the ferocity, the _hate_. It overpowered him, dragging him down into a dark place Obi-Wan hadn’t experienced before.

Obi-Wan gasped as his legs buckled and he was brought back to the Council chamber by his master’s firm hand on his arm, steadying him until he could find his feet again.

“Are you alright,” his Master asked, offering his padawan support as the other master’s returned to their seats.

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured him. “It’s just tiring.”

“What you’ve presented is troubling,” Master Windu said at last. “The council will discuss this and summon you when we have reached a conclusion. In the meantime, I caution you to keep what we have discussed to this chamber.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon replied.

“Is that all?”

“With your permission, there is one final matter,” Qui-Gon said. Master Windu prompted him to continue and Qui-Gon stepped away from Obi-Wan, leaving him swaying a bit on unsteady legs. Obi-Wan summoned up a bit of energy through the Force to fortify himself.

“During our time on Tatooine, it became clear to myself and my apprentice that the former slave, Anakin, is Force-sensitive. Anakin won his freedom in a podrace and has come to Coruscant with us. I request permission to begin his Jedi training.”

Obi-Wan nearly lost his feet again. He’d been expecting Qui-Gon to address Anakin’s training. But, to request to _personally_ begin Anakin’s training, Qui-Gon was requesting Anakin become his padawan. But that was Obi-Wan’s position.

“You have an apprentice already, Master Qui-Gon,” Master Gallia said firmly.

“Whose training is not yet completed,” Master Windu added. “The Code forbids taking on two.”

“Obi-Wan is ready for the Trials. He still has much to learn but I believe he will learn as a Knight, from an apprentice of his own. There is little more I can teach him now.”

But Obi-Wan did not hear the words Qui-Gon spoke in his favor. A sour feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach, choking off his own voice so that he stood silent as his master rejected him. Again. He wanted to scream and rage, to stand up and say “No, you will not do this again!” But the Jedi way taught to let go of emotion, to release it into the Force so that a Jedi could be calm and listen to the will of the Force. Except Obi-Wan couldn’t hear the Force now. Only his master’s words. “I request permission to being his Jedi training.” _Anakin’s_ training.

“You are dismissed. We will summon you once more when the Council has decided.”

Qui-Gon bowed and Obi-Wan copied him automatically, though his mind was still elsewhere. Qui-Gon would’ve scolded him, telling him to keep his concentration here and now where it belongs. But he was focused elsewhere as well, on Anakin who leapt to his feet as soon as they emerged from the Council chamber.

“What will happen now?” he asked eagerly.

“The Council is going to consider what we have shared and will come to a decision,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Do they think it was a Sith too? How long will it take for them to decide?”

“It’s difficult to say, but for the time being I think it would be best if we focused on other things. I, for one, wouldn’t mind a meal of something other than protein loaves.”

At the prospect if something so simple, Anakin acted as if Boonta Eve had come again. Food was about the last thing Obi-Wan was interested in at the moment, however. His head was beginning to throb from the meditation session he’d shared with four masters who were much stronger than he was in the Force. Really, all he was interested in was peace and quiet and his own sleep couch.

“If it’s all the same to you, Master, I would prefer to retire,” he said quietly.

Qui-Gon, the wise Jedi Master that he was, understood immediately.

“Of course, Padawan,” he replied sincerely. “Anakin and I will bring you a meal when you are rested.”

The turbolift opened and Qui-Gon gestured Anakin out, nodding reassuringly to Obi-Wan as he followed the boy out. As the doors closed behind them, Obi-Wan sighed in relief, sinking back against the wall. He was bone-tired, and not just from the meditation session. The day when he’d sat on the ship in his diplomatic robes and complained about their wasted presence on Alderaan seemed like it had happened in another lifetime, in another galaxy. So much had happened, and he couldn’t help but feel conflicted inside. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but Qui-Gon as off with his _new_ apprentice, and frankly it felt like he was perhaps at the root of some of the conflict.

Unbidden, an image of Padmé as she’d sat in her quarters on the ship, bent over a datapad and determined to find the solution to her planet’s grief, came to the front of his thoughts. After leaving Tatooine, he’d seen little of the Princess of Alderaan, and yet the few times they’d passed in the passageways of the ship she’d looked up from whatever she’d been doing and smiled at him and Obi-Wan had smiled back. He’d felt a growing connection between them, and yet he couldn’t explain why. He didn’t want to think about _that_ either. Jedi weren’t supposed to have emotional attachments. Attachments, like emotion, could cloud one’s judgment and make it difficult to tell if you were following the true will of the Force, or your own will.

The turbolift signaled its arrival to the living quarters of the Jedi temple. The light in the hallway was always dimmer than elsewhere. Jedi often came in and out of the temple at all hours of the day, and so the corridors were kept in low light so as not to disturb those one a different planetary cycle than Coruscant. For Obi-Wan, the soft light and the quiet were soothing and he trudged the familiar path down the hallways to the apartment he and Qui-Gon shared as Master and Apprentice.

The small apartment was sparsely furnished, but it was still obvious that the cleaning droids had come through recently. He and Qui-Gon had been away from the temple for a number of months and there should have been a layer of dust on every surface and the few personal items lying about the apartment. Except everything looked just the way they’d left it. In fact, it was better than they’d left it. Obi-Wan had accidentally left a cup of tea on the table as they’d departed in a hurry to make it to their ship. That cup had long ago been cleaned and returned to the cupboard. Obi-Wan bypassed the kitchen and sitting area completely, instead choosing to shuck his outer tunic and collapse onto his sleep couch. His bunk on the ship had been in the general crew area and was small and confining. His sleep couch wasn’t the lap of luxury, but it felt like it as Obi-Wan drifted off.

Obi-Wan was awoken by a persistent beeping which his sleep-addled mind slowly identified as the comm unit in the common area. Obi-Wan pulled himself up and stumbled to the sitting room were the comm unit on the wall flashed an incoming message. Not seeing Qui-Gon and knowing it could be the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan forced himself to straighten up and run a hand through his short hair before answering. To his surprise, it wasn’t one of the Council members whose face appeared in a small blue hologram. It was Padmé’s.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan slurred before he cleared his throat and remembered his composure. He dipped his head in a short bow. “Your Highness, how can I help you?”

Padmé scowled at him through the comm. “Really, Obi-Wan? We’ve been in a bar fight together, I think you can drop the niceties. Are you busy right now?”

Obi-Wan looked around the empty apartment and shook his head. “No. We’ve made our report, now we are waiting for the Council’s decision.”

Padmé snorted. “Bureaucracy, I understand all about that. If you’re not busy, I would like to set up an opportunity to meet you. I…am in need of some assistance.”

Her words broke through the last of his sleepiness and Obi-Wan leaned over the comm unit, alert. “Is everything okay? Are you in danger?”

“Relax,” Padmé assured him. “I’m not in any physically danger. But, I need to talk to you and I don’t want to do it over the comm unit. Can you meet me?”

“Of course. Let me contact my master and we’ll—“

“Not with Qui-Gon,” Padmé said quickly. “Just you.”

Her request was…highly unorthodox. Obi-Wan should refuse. No good could come of something like this. But he found himself nodding anyways.

“Good. Meet me on the landing platform of 500 Republica. Bring a speeder. I don’t want to discuss this where others might notice us.”

“I will be there shortly,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Good.”

And the comm transmission ended, leaving Obi-Wan staring at the blank space where Padmé’s head had been wondering what in the name of the Force he was doing. Nothing about their conversation had sounded like it could lead to anything good. They were meeting alone, in secrecy, to discuss a matter that couldn’t be discussed over the comm system or in the apartment of a Senator.

“Oh, Sithspit,” Obi-Wan groaned.

 

 

Padmé Amidala Organa hated bureaucracy more than anything in the entire world. It was why Bail was in line to become the next Senator of their planet. Traditionally, Bail, as the eldest child, would be groomed to become the next King of Alderaan after their mother stepped down. Then Padmé, as the younger child, would find some other position in service to her planet. Senator was often a strong choice. But Padmé had no patience for the squabbling of senators and delegates, and she was thoroughly reminded of that as she sat in her system’s repulsorpod alongside the white-haired, venerable Senator from Alderaan, Bail Antilles. The captain of her guard, Panaka, stood at the door to their pod, his back to the proceedings so that he could keep an eye on any who approached the pod.

At the moment, Padmé wanted to grab the nearest moveable object and throw it down the long way at the representative of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, who droned on and on about…something. Padmé had ceased listen. The delegation from Alderaan had to wait its turn to address the Senate, even though the meeting had been called as a special emergency session to listen to their plea. But it seemed the lives of her people was not more important than changes in account managerial staffing, or at least that’s what Padmé _thought_ he was mumbling about. Across and down Padmé’s eyes landed on the representatives of the Trade Federation where they sat, not even appearing to listen to the Banking Clan. The green-skinned, red-eyed Neimoidians muttered amongst themselves and fiddled with their fine robes and ridiculous hats. Padmé vaguely recalled reading somewhere that a Neimoidian’s hat was a status symbol. Padmé hadn’t yet seen one that didn’t look absurd. They sat there, the perpetrators of the invasion of her peaceful planet, of her people’s suffering, and they didn’t even have the nerve to look up and meet her gaze. Cowards.

“Your Highness, it is almost time to address the Senate,” Senator Antilles murmured to her. Typically he would be sitting in the front seat of their repulsorpod with his aides on either side. But with Padmé presence at this senatorial session, she outranked him and he instead took the seat immediately to her right, prepared to offer his support and guidance, but deferring to her station. Padmé hated it. Bail should be here, addressing the senate. He was a much more eloquent speaker and everybody seemed to like him and agree with him almost immediately. Padmé knew people were more often intimidated by her. She had her mother’s stubbornness and her father’s glare.

“Thank you, Senator Antilles, for acting so quickly,” she said quietly.

“The plight of our people deserves only the swiftest of action,” Senator Antilles replied. “We will plead our case for the Senate’s intervention, but I am not confident action will come during this session. We must have patience where it is difficult.”

Patience was the last thing Padmé wanted to have at the moment, but she nodded and sat up as the Banking Clan representative finished his remarks and bowed to a smattering of applause. Why anyone would applaud such a dull, pointless discourse, Padmé couldn’t understand, but it mattered little now. As the Banking Clan’s pod returned to its home, Supreme Chancellor Valorum stood from his position at the center of the chamber.

“The chair recognizes the Senator from Alderaan.”

Senator Antilles stood and maneuvered their repulsorpod down into the belly of the Senate chamber. Small, holonet droids hovered around them, broadcasting their images and remarks to all of Coruscant, and that galaxy at large.

“My fellow Senators and representatives,” Senator Antilles began, looking up and out as he addressed the thousands of delegates in the chamber. “A tragedy has occurred. Alderaan has suffered a grave infringement on our sovereignty and liberty. I now present, Her Highness Padmé Amidala Organa, Crown Princess of Alderaan, to speak on behalf of her people.”

There was light applause as Padmé stood as tall as she could, looking over the vast chamber. Below she saw Chancellor Valorum who nodded ever so slightly. She’d spoken to him privately upon her arrival to Coruscant and told him of her people’s suffering and he’d encouraged her to have faith that the Senate would act to right this wrong. Senator Antilles had painted a much bleaker picture of the Senate, citing numerous times when the Chancellor had been forced to bow to the wishes of the bureaucrats or risk defamation through charges of corruption. Padmé prayed as she began her prepared address that the Chancellor was right.

“Honorable representatives of the Republic. I come before you to plead for your intervention. Alderaan has been invaded by the droid armies of the Trade—“

“I object! There is no proof!”

Padmé turned to glare at the Trade Federation representative, who had disconnected his pod to come and hover behind them.

“The chair does _not_ recognize the representative from the Trade Federation at this time,” Chancellor Valorum replied firmly. “Continue, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Chancellor. My proof lies in my own experience. It was only with the help of two Jedi that I and my small contingent of guards were able to escape. My mother, the Queen of Alderaan, and my father the First Chairman, remain prisoners of the Viceroy of the Trade Federation.”

“This is incredible!” the Trade Federation representative declared. “There remains no proof of these slanderous lies! We recommend a commission be sent to Alderaan to ascertain the truth!”

Padmé’s temper flared. “The truth—!”

“The Congress of Malastare concurs with the honorable delegates of the Trade Federation. A commission must be appointed!”

The senate quickly erupted into many separate arguments and the holonet droids whizzed by, trying to follow each representative. Padmé’s heart sank as she stood at the center of the maelstrom, her voice going unheard.

“Please! Senators, hear me out!”

“It is as I feared,” Senator Antilles said dejectedly.

Padmé growled, frustrated as she watched senators bicker across platforms. “Surely there is something that can be done.”

Senator Antilles sighed. “Only a strong chancellor could bring this rabble together.”

Padmé’s eyes fell on Chancellor Valorum where he sat, surrounded by his aides. The Vice Chair seemed to be trying to call the senate back to order, and was succeeding slowly. Padmé’s mind raced as she thought of her next move and wished that it didn’t have to be so. She had one last hope as the senate quieted and Chancellor Valorum stood to make his own address.

“The point is conceded. Princess Organa, will you defer to allow a committee to explore the validity of your accusations?”

Padmé heart sank as her fury rose. “I will _not_ defer! I came before you to request your intervention, but I can see this body is _incapable_ of action! I move for a Vote of No Confidence in Chancellor Valorum’s leadership.”

Back in her chamber in 500 Republica, Padmé regretted her hasty action, but could not see any other way. The senate had exploded once more and it was eventually decided to suspend proceedings pending nomination and election of a new Supreme Chancellor. Valorum had looked up at her with shock and betrayal, but resignation. There was little he could do now. A Vote of No Confidence, issued by a member of a royal family of a Core World could not be ignored. A new supreme chancellor would be elected, and he was finished.

Padmé sat back from the comm unit, her mind racing. She’d asked for Obi-Wan to meet her. After the inaction of the Senate, and now Senator Antilles was racing to ensure that whoever was elected chancellor was sympathetic to their plight, Padmé knew she had to take matters into her own hands. It would be nearly impossible, but she knew she had to try, and Obi-Wan was her hope.

He arrived not long after her comm call, flying a plain silver speeder with an enclosed cockpit. Padmé had changed out of the formal gown Senator Antilles had procured for her and wore just a simple tunic. Obi-Wan, for his part, had foregone his Jedi tunic and instead wore a blue coat and black pants. If it weren’t for the padawan braid that rested on his shoulder, he would’ve appeared to be just another young Coruscanti man.

Neither of them spoke to each other beyond simple pleasantries and Padmé’s initial admission that she didn’t really know a good place to go.

“I know of a place,” Obi-Wan assured her and the two of them descended lower into a new district. Obi-Wan landed the speeder in a small square, at the far end of which sat a squat little diner that seemed to be doing well for itself despite the later hour. The sign outside proclaimed it as Dex’s Diner and although the second “D” flickered precariously, the smells wafting from the diner were pleasant and the lights inside shone cheerfully out into the street.

Upon entering, Obi-Wan shepherded Padmé into a nearby booth. The waitress, a blonde human girl in a skimpy blue dress sidled up to the table and beamed.

“Obi-Wan! It’s great to see you! When did you get back?”

“Hello, Hermione,” Obi-Wan replied and Padmé found herself scrutinizing the fond grin Obi-Wan gave the waitress. “Just earlier today.”

“You know Dex is going to want to see you. And that master of yours, Qui-Gon.”

“I know. I promise we’ll come down when we get the opportunity.”

“Well alright. A cup of jawa juice right?”

“Two, actually,” Padmé replied, giving the waitress a wide grin. Hermione looked between the two of them and Padmé could practically see her coming to a certain conclusion as her eyebrows shot up into her teased bangs.

“Oh, of course! I’ll be right back.” And she gave Obi-Wan a not-at-all subtle wink as she sauntered away. Obi-Wan waited until she was out of earshot before he groaned.

“You had to do that?”

Padmé grinned sweetly at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Obi-Wan snorted but let the topic drop. There were more important things to discuss than Hermione’s misconceptions.

“What did you need to talk about?” Obi-Wan asked after Hermione returned with their jawa juices. They declined food, Padmé mostly because she didn’t entirely trust what might come out of the kitchen.

“I’ve decided to go back to Alderaan,” Padmé declared.

To Obi-Wan’s credit, he didn’t jump up and start shouting about how horrible an idea that was with the Trade Federation still in control. Instead he leaned closer, his voice dropping.

“What about the Senate?”

“They refuse to do anything. They wanted to send a _committee_ , to see if what I said was true or not. As if I would fly halfway across the galaxy to tell lies to the Senate! I couldn’t see any other option, so I called for a Vote of No Confidence. The Senate will be choosing a new Chancellor, but that may take some time, which my people do not have. I need to resolve this myself, and I’m asking for your help.”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened with his realization. “This is why you didn’t want Qui-Gon to come. You wish to go around the Senate, and you don’t think he would agree.”

“Do you?” Padmé asked bluntly.

“No,” Obi-Wan admitted. At least, it hadn’t seemed that way when they’d first spoken to the Organa siblings on Alderaan.

“What would you have me do?” Padmé hissed lowly. “My people are starving _, dying_. Bail and I have been trying our best with what we had on the planet but it wasn’t enough. We must do something _quickly_ to stop the Federation and…I’m out of options. I wouldn’t ask this of you, but I’m desperate. Please, Obi-Wan.”

Suddenly Obi-Wan’s commlink signaled and Obi-Wan couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Kenobi,” he answered.

“Obi-Wan, the Council has summoned us. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way back, Master,” Obi-Wan replied. He stood and left a few credits on the table.

“I’ll take a taxi back,” Padmé told him. “Go. Your master is waiting.” She said it with more disdain than she’d intended, but she couldn’t help it.

“I’ll talk to him,” Obi-Wan assured her. “I can’t go alone. The Jedi would never allow that. But Qui-Gon isn’t without empathy. I will try to sway him.”

“Good luck.”

“And to you as well. Give me the rest of the cycle before you leave. Please.”

Padmé nodded reluctantly. She could agree to that, if it meant she might be able to get the assistance of the Jedi. She had to.

 

 

Obi-Wan hurried from the turbolift to find Anakin already seated out in the waiting area of the Council chamber, Qui-Gon nowhere in sight.

“Anakin, where is Master Qui-Gon?” he asked.

“He went inside,” Anakin replied. “He said to ask you to wait when you arrived. The council couldn’t wait any longer.”

Obi-Wan quashed the irritation that reared its head as he sat down next to Anakin in the waiting area. Qui-Gon honestly couldn’t have waited?

“Where were you?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He didn’t really want to tell Anakin about his meeting with Padmé or her request. Anakin would not be going to Alderaan if they returned anyways. A potential war zone was no place for a teenage former slave with no combat experience.

“Out on an errand,” he replied.

The turbolift door opened and Obi-Wan leapt to his feet as he recognized the Ambassador to the Jedi Order as he stepped out of the turbolift. The Jedi, for all they served the Republic, did not hold any political power. They were at the whim of the Galactic Senate and Chancellor, and that relationship was tended by Sheev Palpatine, an ambassador from the mid-rim system Naboo. Obi-Wan had first met Ambassador Palpatine when he’d become Qui-Gon’s apprentice, and had interacted with him on numerous occasions since then. The ambassador was not a Force-sensitive, but he was as venerated as the masters of the Jedi Council and his knowledge of the Jedi Order and its tenants was unrivaled by any other outside the Order.

“Ambassador,” Obi-Wan greeted him with a formal bow.

Palpatine smiled warmly. “Obi-Wan, my boy, it’s good to see you. I heard that you had returned from Alderaan. Everything is well?”

“I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan replied. “My master is in with the Council now, discussing our mission.”

Palpatine glanced at the closed door of the council chamber, frowning. “That must be why my presence was requested.”

He seemed to notice Anakin, who’d stayed back, slumped over in his chair.

“I don’t think we have been introduced,” Palpatine prompted.

“No, of course,” Obi-Wan said, “This is Anakin. He helped us when our ship was stranded on Tatooine.”

Anakin nodded, fidgeting with the edge of his tunic and barely making eye contact. Of all the times to be shy, meeting such an important person to the Jedi Order was not the opportunity. The boy hadn’t wanted to shut up earlier.

“May I have a word with you, Obi-Wan?” Palpatine asked.

“Of course.” The two of them moved away, out of earshot of the sulking Anakin.

“Is everything alright?” Palpatine asked, concern in his eyes when they had privacy.

Obi-Wan had wanted someone to speak to about the conflict he felt over Anakin, but Qui-Gon had been out and Padmé had difficulties of her own to worry about. But as Obi-Wan looked into the kindly eyes of a man whom he trusted, who stood apart and yet understood, the truth came tumbling out.

“I’m worried. My master is very interested in training Anakin.”

“But _you_ are his apprentice, are you not?”

“Yes. But Qui-Gon told the masters of the Council that I was ready for the Trials. I know it’s to allow him to train Anakin. To replace me.”

“And how does this make you feel?”

Obi-Wan hadn’t yet spoken the word out loud. It was not a Jedi emotion, and he didn’t dare admit it, even to himself. And yet here was someone who was not a Jedi, who could, possibly, understand what Obi-Wan felt.

“I’m jealous of Anakin. And I know I shouldn’t be.”

Palpatine hummed, agreement. “Yes, it is not the Jedi way to feel jealousy. But, it is human. You are a fine Jedi, Obi-Wan, but feelings like this can’t be helped. You must have caution. Jealousy can lead to many other things. Fear for your loss, anger, hatred…”

“The Dark Side,” Obi-Wan finished.

“Yes. Have you spoken with your master about this feeling?”

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Well, perhaps when all of this is finished.”

They both heard the slide of the Council chamber doors opening and returned to the waiting area where Qui-Gon was emerging with the masters from before, and a few others.

“Ambassador Palpatine,” Master Windu bowed.

“Master Windu,” Palpatine replied, inclining his head. “I came as soon as I was able to.”

“It is a troubling matter,” Master Windu admitted. “One I wish to discuss with you fully. But first, Anakin.”

Anakin leapt to his feet, tugging his tunic straight, though as he stood before the Jedi Master, he didn’t make eye contact. That would have to be fixed, sooner rather than later.

“After further discussion, you are accepted for Jedi training. However, the Council does not, approve Master Qui-Gon’s request to begin your training personally. You will begin your training as an initiate here, in the Jedi temple and will become an apprentice pending acceptance by an _eligible_ Master.” Master Windu sent Qui-Gon a side-long glance, but Obi-Wan’s master did not seem upset, or even surprised by his words. They had obviously spoken to Qui-Gon of their decision inside.

“Congratulations, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, though privately he was incredibly relieved. Qui-Gon would not be allowed to accept Anakin as his padawan while Obi-Wan was still his apprentice, but Anakin would still be able to train as a Jedi, and one day perhaps they would go on a mission together, once Anakin was fully trained. He was so strong in the Force, Obi-Wan had little doubt he would be selected by another master quickly.

But the news that Qui-Gon would not be personally training him seemed to hit Anakin harder than Obi-Wan expected. Instead of barely-contained excitement, he could only feel Anakin’s nervousness and uncertainty. He wanted to remind him that all would happen that was the will of the Force, but now was not the time.

“In regards to the other matter you presented to us, the Council is yet undecided. We will continue to look into this troubling matter. In the meantime, we must focus on the selection of a new Chancellor. Ambassador?”

“Yes, a very troubling situation,” Palpatine said. “One I would like to discuss with you further, my friends. I have heard of a few potential candidates.”

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin were dismissed as Ambassador Palpatine entered the Council chamber with the masters. They stood, the three of them, Obi-Wan standing between the others. That’s where he felt he always was, between them. In the way.

“Where were you, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked as they descended back to their living quarters. They’d stopped first to drop Anakin off in the initiates’ wing. One of the training masters had been expecting him and already had made arrangements for him accommodations. He’d be placed with a training group that was younger than him, but Obi-Wan had little doubt that Anakin would progress quickly. Just based on the way he handled the podrace, the Force came naturally to Anakin. Now, just the two of them, Obi-Wan had no excuse to avoid his master’s question. He could not lie to him; it was against the Jedi Code.

“I received a communication from Padmé Organa,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “We met at Dex’s Diner, and she asked for our help again.”

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. “You know we can’t intervene without—“

“She tried going through the Senate, Master,” Obi-Wan insisted. “But they wouldn’t do anything! She had to call for the Vote.”

“Which has only delayed her further,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“Master, her people are starving. We saw the invasion, we know it happened. Surely there is something we can do to help her!”

“Is this the Force speaking to you, Apprentice, or something else?”

Obi-Wan bristled at his master’s accusation.

“It’s the Force! We are Jedi. We are meant to keep peace and prosperity throughout the galaxy. The peace was broken. Now is the time to act. The Senate is incapable, so now it falls to us.”

“You’re right.”

Obi-Wan’s next declaration stopped dead in his throat and nearly choked him. He’d been expecting to argue, to plead, to do anything necessary to secure his master’s agreement. He had to, for Padmé. He hadn’t been expecting Qui-Gon to suddenly agree.

“I…am…”

“The Force speaks strongly through you, Obi-Wan. It always has. It is why I chose to continue your training. You are headstrong and impulsive, but there is no doubt that you act with compassion. One day, you may even temper that impulsivity.”

Obi-Wan ducked his head sheepishly. He’d heard that criticism before.

“We can’t fight the war for her,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “But we can accompany her and protect her. That will have to be enough.”

It was more than Obi-Wan had hoped for when he’d agreed to bring the idea to his master again. Protecting Padmé meant if there was a war, he’d be in the thick of it. He could keep an eye on her, make sure she came to no harm. And maybe, they would free her planet from the grip of the Trade Federation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Part 5:

When Obi-Wan had passed along the news of their help, Padmé had seemed happy, but still he could see her disappointment, even through the holoprojector.  Still, she’d accepted them graciously and whole-heartedly, and so Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon sat once more on a transport, heading for the Alderaan system. Except this time Obi-Wan didn’t sit in the galley dreaming of old days of the Jedi-Sith War. Instead he stood in the ship’s preparation room with Padmé and Qui-Gon on his left and right as they discussed their plans. The fact remained, they had no army. The Senate wouldn’t provide support, and they hadn’t been able to make contact with Bail or any of the other resistance fighters on the planet. They didn’t expect to be able to, though. Communications remained blocked to Alderaan.

“We won’t be able to fight them outright,” Padmé declared. “There aren’t enough of us. But there is one way to gain the leverage necessary to end this invasion.” She pressed a few buttons and brought up a holo-image of a Nemoidian.

“This is Nute Gunray. He is the current Viceroy of the Trade Federation. Before my brother and I escaped, we saw him as the battle droids took my mother and father hostage. Likely, he remains on the planet in the palace.”

“How can you be certain?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Until we land and make contact with my brother, I can’t. But Nemoidians are cowards. They wouldn’t risk leaving the safety of the palace. If the Viceroy is still there, I can lead a small force through the secret passageways into the palace and we can fight our way through to the Viceroy. Capturing him will force the Trade Federation to withdraw. They won’t have a choice.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this plan.”

“What if the Viceroy escapes?” Obi-Wan added. “He could return with a greater droid army. Or what if you are captured?”

Padmé’s expression grew cold. “I will not let that happen,” she told him.

When they dropped out of hyperspace, they landed on the far side of Alderaan’s moon to avoid detection by the Federation ships. Their pilot Jeremoch brought them in low and fast to avoid the Federation’s scanners. It was close, but they were able to avoid a fighter patrol and landed safely in the dense forest outside of Aldera. Their small contingent fanned out, Obi-Wan staying close to Padmé as she led the way to the base. Without having any sort of communication, it was impossible to know whether Bail and the rest of the resistance fighters were even there still. They could’ve been discovered and taken to the camps, or worse.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Padmé murmured.

They came to the base of the familiar waterfall without meeting anyone, however, and Obi-Wan’s senses were on high alert. The Force was generally quiet, but as they’d descended to the surface and the deeper they trekked into the forest, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feet a pang of unease. It was reminiscent of the disturbance he’d felt on Tatooine when they’d landed, and that certainly hadn’t ended well.

“I feel it also,” Qui-Gon murmured as they waited for Padmé to enter the code to open the bunker door. It was an elusive feeling, but Obi-Wan was relieved that his master had picked up on it as well. Surely with the two of them, whatever it was that caused the disturbance could not slip through their guard.

The bunker door ground open and they slipped through, low lights flickering on just as they had the first time Obi-Wan had stepped inside. And like before, there was no guard. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon took up position on either side of the second door as Padmé entered the next code, lightsabers in hand and ready. The second door opened with the same old screech at the end and they all froze, listening for the heavy footsteps and clanking of battle droids. There was nothing and the hallway beyond was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Captain Panaka muttered, signaling his team to fan out down either side of the corridor. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan remained back, flanking Padmé.

“There should be people here,” Padmé murmured, her voice cracking. Suddenly she rushed down the corridor, Obi-Wan and the others scrambling to catch up.

“Your Highness, wait!” Captain Panaka called as they burst into the control room.

“Oh thank the Force!” Padmé breathed and she practically threw herself at the young woman sitting at the nearest console. As Obi-Wan looked around, he spotted just two young men with the woman.

“Breha, where is everyone?” Padmé asked.

“They are out on a mission,” the young woman replied, her words slightly tinted with an accent. “But what are you doing here? What about the Senate?”

Padmé’s whole demeanor shifted. “I’m sorry. I failed. The Senate wouldn’t do anything, so I called for a Vote of No Confidence. They won’t help us.”

“But, you at least have the support of the Jedi?” Breha asked, looking to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon hopefully.

“We are here as protectors,” Qui-Gon replied. “We can’t fight the war for you, but we will help as much as we can.”

“Then I suppose it’s good we found help.”

“Bail!” Padmé nearly tackled her brother as he entered the control room, looking ragged and a bit worse for the wear.  Old wounds and scratches marred his face and his cheeks were more hollowed than they’d been before. His clothes were caked with mud, but Padmé paid it no mind as she reunited with her brother.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Bail admitted as they pulled apart.

“The Senate was incapable of doing anything. They didn’t believe that the invasion was even happening! If we’re going to help our people, then we have to do it ourselves.”

Bail nodded. “I may be able to help. Your departure got me thinking about the invasion. Aldera wasn’t the only city attacked and surely, if we were able to escape, others had too. Come.”

They followed Bail down a passage Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon hadn’t previously used. It opened up at the end to a modest hangar and Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped. The hangar was full of fighters! Some Obi-Wan recognized from Bail’s squad, but there were many others, some dressed in battle gear like Bail’s team and others wearing what looked like the remains of formal robes. Obi-Wan recognized house insignias from at least 7 other houses across Alderaan.

“How did you possibly reach them all?” Padmé asked. “The comm system…”

“We sent scouts in every direction we could.” Bail looked solemn. “Some didn’t make it. But those who did convinced the other groups to come and join us. We gathered in the Juran Mountains and have only just returned.”

Padmé looked over the men and women in the hangar and for the first time, Obi-Wan saw hope in her eyes.

But coordinating an attack on the capital was going to be more difficult than planned. Once word got around that they were planning an assault to take back the palace, everyone wanted to have their own voice. Eventually it was decided to have one representative from each of the noble houses present at the planning. And then the real fireworks began. Obi-Wan was impressed though, the way Padmé handled the leaders of the different houses. She was decisive and stern, but not unwilling to compromise. Most of all, she reminded all of them that this was a battle, not just for the palace, but for the future of Alderaan.

“We cannot fail,” she said, meeting the eye of each fighter in the control room. There were nods and a few murmured agreements.

“Then you have your tasks. May the Force be with you.”

The meeting adjourned, the leaders separated to prepare their squads until only Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Padmé, and Bail remained.

“The scout reports are…not encouraging,” Bail said quietly. “There are battle droids everywhere, heaviest around the palace. The Viceroy is most assuredly there. One of my men spotted his aides returning.”

Padmé didn’t answer as she studied the map of the palace. She knew it inside and out, having lived their nearly her entire life. But she’d never had to look for its weaknesses. She’d never had to consider an assault, and for all her training, Padmé was not a military leader.

“Your Highnesses, if I may have a word?” Captain Panaka requested, standing at attention.

“Of course,” Bail replied. “What is it Captain?”

“I do not think that Her Highness should go with the assault group.”

Obi-Wan was grateful he stood back and out of the line of fire as Padmé turned her considerable temper on the captain.

“And _why_ ever not?” she demanded.

“Padmé…” Bail cautioned, placing a restraining hand on his sister’s shoulder. She shrugged it off, however, glare never leaving the captain of her guard.

“Please, Your Highness, this is a dangerous undertaking. If anything were to happen to you—“

“Then I will have died for Alderaan, like so many others before me. I have no right to ask anything of these fighters that I wouldn’t do myself,” Padmé snapped.

“But think of the future of House Organa.”

“There will _be_ no future if we do not win! And I refuse to stay behind while others risk their lives for our home. I’m going, Captain, and there will be no further discussion of the issue. Is that understood?”

Captain Panaka looked to Bail for help, but the elder Organa shrugged, not willing to go up against his sister. Not in this matter.

Qui-Gon stepped forward, clearing his throat. “If I may, Captain, my apprentice and I will stay by Her Highness’s side the entire time and ensure no harm comes to her.”

Obi-Wan nodded, seconding his master’s assurances. He would personally remain at Padmé’s side. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but agree with Captain Panaka. A battle like this was shaping up to be was no place for a politician, or a future monarch. But he didn’t dare voice that opinion because Padmé’s words rang true. There would be no future if they did not win.

An hour later they were trekking through the forest once more, only this time they were aimed straight for the capital Aldera, and their target, the Royal palace. Obi-Wan was just a half step behind Padmé right hand and Qui-Gon was on the other side. The rest of their troops were fanned out through the trees, moving separately so that there was less chance of them being picked up on scanners, but still within sight of each other. Obi-Wan had his lightsaber in hand, though it wasn’t activated. A lightsaber would be a beacon to droids in the quiet of the forest.

At last they came to a narrow ravine. Above them rose one of the great mountains that framed Aldera and just to the east Obi-Wan could make out some of the silver spires of the city. They had reached Padmé’s entrance. Captain Panaka glanced down at his chrono and signaled to hold. In order for this to work, each group had to be in place at the same time. With no communications, that had to be pre-arranged, and so each team had extra time to arrive, just in case. Obi-Wan hunkered down behind one of the great trees with Padmé. He could feel her nervousness and she was muttering as she double and triple-checked her blaster and cartridges.

“Through the mountain tunnel, out into Republic Square. Right, right, left, servant’s entrance…”

“Padmé, are you alright?” he asked.

She startled, but nodded, tucking her blaster away again.

“If anyone can make this plan work, it’s going to be you. You faced down the entire Galactic Senate. What’s a couple of thousand battle droids?”

Padmé laughed and Obi-Wan grinned, happy to have lifted her spirits, even that small amount.

“It’s time,” Panaka signaled and their moment of ease was broken. Padmé led the way down the ravine and Obi-Wan followed just behind, his senses on high-alert. This would be the absolute worst place for an ambush. There were only two ways out of the ravine. Back the way they’d come, and through the secret passage that led into the mountains. Obi-Wan’s eyes roved over the tall rock faces on either side, looking for even the slightest hint of the Trade Federation’s army.

But it seemed that perhaps their way in had been overlooked. Battle droids, after all, were good at following orders, but not at thinking or reasoning. If someone didn’t tell them to guard this ravine, even if one of them stumbled across the entrance, they would continue on their prior task. The passageway at the end of the ravine was little more than a network of caves. Anyone unfamiliar with them would’ve become hopelessly lost. But there was a reason Padmé’s assault group had been chosen to take this path. Not only did it put them the closest to the palace and the throne room where the Viceroy was no doubt held up, but having grown up in Aldera, in the palace, Bail and Padmé knew these passages the best.

Bail and his group of fighters had a different task. They were storming the communications center, in hopes of re-establishing comms. If they failed to capture the Viceroy, at least images of the invasion would be broadcast across the galaxy, right to the Galactic Senate on Coruscant. Regardless of what happened, Alderaan would not be ignored again.

They came at last to a heavy-duty blast door and Padmé cursed.

“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked.

“This door. It’s been reinforced. They knew about this entrance and they blocked it off.” The door panel on the wall was dead as Padmé tried accessing the controls. Then they heard the distant echoing of heavy footsteps, all marching in unison. The battle droids were coming.

“We’re trapped,” Panaka declared as he and the other fighters turned to face the incoming battle droids.

“No we’re not,” Qui-Gon said. He only had to glance at Obi-Wan and his apprentice knew what to do.

“Step back,” Obi-Wan told Padmé, directing her behind him. The blast door was incredibly heavy, and no doubt the mechanism was going to be rough from disuse.

“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan whispered, remembering his training in the Jedi Temple. Master Yoda was the smallest and wisest of the Masters on the High Council, even smaller than Obi-Wan had been at five years-old. And yet he had lifted a speeder many times larger than him. Obi-Wan slowed his breathing and focused on blocking out the sound of blaster fire that was already ringing through the caves. Captain Panaka and his men had engaged the incoming droids. He reached out through the Force, feeling the strength and surety of his master beside him. Together, they could do anything, including move this door.

 _‘Together,’_ Qui-Gon prompted through the Force. Bonded as Master and Apprentice, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan reached out, feeling the old mechanisms and the reinforced durasteel of the blast door. Obi-Wan reached out his hand, like he was going to grab the door itself, channeling his power. It was so heavy and his arms began to shake as a sweat broke out across his forehead. He could feel Qui-Gon straining too, but slowly the two of them managed to lift the door. Distantly, Obi-Wan was aware of a high-pitched squeal of the durasteel abrading.

“Everyone through,” Qui-Gon ordered when they’d lifted the door half way. It wasn’t fully up, but it would be enough for the others to climb through. Captain Panaka and his men slowly broke off the fight, slipping under the doorway. Padmé made it through and Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, knowing she was in. The door slipped.

“Padawan!” Qui-Gon growled. Obi-Wan refocused as the last of the fighters made it through.

“You’re turn,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan didn’t argue or ask questions. He broke away his hold for just a moment and dived under the door, rolling to his feet. He turned to see his master dive through just as the door slammed down again, sealing the battle droids in the cavern.

They were in a large square, nestled at the base of the mountain. At the center was a fountain, but the water had long ago evaporated from disuse. The square was empty of droids, which in itself should’ve been a warning. If battle droids had attacked them in the cavern, then the Trade Federation most likely knew they were here.

“Keep moving,” Padmé ordered as they moved swiftly around the perimeter of the square, weapons drawn and ready. They slipped out of the square, down a side street and turned right up another alley. The palace loomed before them and they halted at the corner of the alley, looking out onto the center square and the grand entrance. It was crawling with battle droids and two tanks. There was no way their small group was going to be able to make it through there. The goal wasn’t the main entrance but the servant’s entrance, just to the north. However, first they had to skirt the edge of the central square and without a doubt they’d be caught. They’d planned for this, though.

Obi-Wan saw a glint of red light, just across the square on the south side. Padmé pulled out her own signaling device and flashed a blue pulse in return. Their diversion was ready.

A brief flash of a missile and the far tank exploded in a fireball. Fighters streamed out of the nearby alleyways, laying down heavy blaster fire as the battle droids in the square all converged on their position. There was another flash and the second tank was blasted, only this one listed to one side, damaged but not finished.

“Let’s go!”

Their group sprinted along the edge of the square, avoiding the notice of the battle droids, focused as they were on the diversionary troops. Already the others were retreating back into the narrow streets of Aldera, drawing droids with them, away from the central square. Padmé led them to a small side entrance and tried to access the control panel, but like the blast door before, the controls were dead.

“Master Jedi?” Padmé said, stepping aside. Qui-Gon had the door open with a flick of his hand and they charged inside, out of the line of fire. There were a couple of battle droids stationed in the hallway, but Obi-Wan made quick work of them, leaving just a smoldering pile of droid parts. Captain Panaka took the lead with his men, picking off any droids that they came across. Those they didn’t were quickly dispatched by Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan. They made their way through the halls of the palace quickly with barely any resistance. It was almost _too_ easy.

And then Obi-Wan felt it. They were rounding a corner, coming on the last, grand hallway that led straight to the throne room when Obi-Wan felt such an overwhelming warning he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Stop!” he yelled, but it was too late. They rounded the corner and three of Panaka’s men went down as heavy blaster fire opened up down the hallway. The rest of them managed to find cover on either side behind pillars. Standing in the hallway was a squad of battle droids, accompanied by three, tripod destroyer droids with energy shields. But it wasn’t the droids that had Obi-Wan the most worried. Standing just behind them, his head bowed and his hood hiding his features, was the Sith.

The overwhelming hatred and anger surged through the Force, but Obi-Wan was expecting it, was ready for it like he hadn’t been the first time. He drew on the light of the Force to create a shield around himself, protecting him from the onslaught. It created a bubble of peace around his mind so that Obi-Wan could focus on what would be the most difficult fight of his life. And he knew he would fight as with a wave of his hand, the Sith halted the barrage. The droids stood motionless, waiting for the command to attack.

Cautiously, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stepped forward. The Sith reached up and threw back his hood, revealing the red and black tattoos and a crown of sharp horns. He smirked at them, his red eyes flashing with malice.

“The _Jedi_ ,” he spat the word like a curse. “We meet again.”

“We’ll handle this,” Qui-Gon told Padmé and Panaka. “Focus on the droids and getting to the throne room.”

“You cannot succeed,” the Sith hissed. “Peace is a lie. Only through victory are my chains broken.”

“Then you will be disappointed,” Obi-Wan spat back, igniting his lightsaber.

The Sith growled, taking his own lightsaber from his belt. He held the weapon in front of him and, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, ignited a blade from each end. He had heard stories of saberstaffs being favored by the Jedi of old, but had never seen one before, nor fought against one.

“Concentrate, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon urged him, igniting his own lightsaber.

“Remember Jedi,” the Sith mocked, “There is no death, there is the Force.”

They leapt, Obi-Wan flying high over the Sith with the help of the Force to land on the opposite side as Qui-Gon struck the first blow. Obi-Wan had fought beside Qui-Gon before, but against blasters and perhaps a vibro-shiv or two. Never another Force-user, and never a lightsaber-wielder. He wasn’t used to his moves being anticipated as he anticipated his opponent. The Sith was good too. The moment they clashed, the droids opened fire again, but there was little time to focus on anything but their fight. The Sith was faster than Obi-Wan, and more skilled with a blade as he spun, each block accompanied by a strike. His strikes were hard too and Obi-Wan felt his arms burning as he struggled to meet the Sith blow for blow. Around them blaster fire pinged off the walls and pillars and a few times Obi-Wan had to block a stray shot.

The fight progressed down the hallway, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon trying to draw the Sith away from Padmé and her fighters. Obi-Wan thought they were holding their own. At least, it seemed as if there were many battle droids on the ground. He used a few of them to throw at the Sith in an effort to distract him and give Obi-Wan a moment to breathe. But the Sith slashed through the parts with a vengeance, pressing the attack. Qui-Gon drew on the Force and pushed him back, throwing the Sith against the door of the throne room. The Sith landed, staggering but remaining on his feet. He flicked a droid head at the control panel, opening the throne room door and soon the battle burst into the throne room, more battle droids joining the fray.

Padmé had never shot so many battle droids in her life, and yet they continued to come, each droid replaced by the next. There were still two destroyers, the third a smoking wreck thanks to Panaka. But the two remaining were laying down steady fire even as they hobbled back on their three legs.

“We don’t have time for this,” Padmé growled. Ahead she could see the Jedi where they battled the Sith, red, blue, and green blades crackling with each clash, the smell of ozone strong in the air. It was mesmerizing to watch their deadly dance, but taking her eyes off the battle droids for even a moment would certainly spell the end of their assault.

“I’ve got two more detonators,” Panaka shouted from where he was hunkered down behind another pillar on the opposite side of the hall. “We’ll only have one shot at this.”

“Then we better take it!”

“Here!” Panaka rolled the inert detonator across the hall and Padmé reached out and grabbed it before dashing back behind her pillar as blaster bolts slammed into the wall behind her.

“Now!” She and Panaka both darted out into the hallway as the remaining fighters laid down cover fire. Padmé flicked the primer and lobbed the detonator at the destroyer. It bounced just underneath the shield, clinking against one of the destroyer’s struts. Padmé dived back behind a pillar just as it was showered with droid parts.

“Clear!” Panaka called.

Padmé glanced around the pillar and saw the twisted wreckage of the destroyer in a small crater. “Clear.”

With the destroyers gone, they were able to advance after the Jedi down the hallway. Locked in battle with the Sith, it was up to Padmé and what remained of her force to clear the way of the last few battle droids. Debris flew through the air at the Sith, but he slashed right through them, only to be thrown against the throne room door by Qui-Gon. Growling, the Sith waved his hand and a nearby droid head threw itself against the control panel, opening the door. Just beyond, Padmé could see the terrified Neimoidians caught out in the open. Nute Gunray himself sat on her mother’s throne and the rage boiled up inside Padmé.

“Viceroy!” she shouted, storming into the throne room regardless of Captain Panaka and the others. “Your occupation here has ended!” she spat, leveling her blaster at the sniveling coward. She didn’t see the battle droids step out from around the door, nor did she see the blaster bolt that slammed into her back.

Obi-Wan saw Padmé rush into the throne room without her guards. He heard her triumphant declaration, just before the Force screamed and a blaster bolt slammed into her back.

“No!” Fear and heartache ripped through his chest and suddenly the Sith meant nothing to him. He threw the Sith back and was across the throne room by her crumpled form the next moment.

“Padmé, Padmé no. Please, can you hear me?”

The wound was terrible, red and blistered, the heavy cloth of her battle dress burnt into the edges. She breathed still, but it was drawn and shallow and she lay unconscious as Obi-Wan prepared to summon all the power he could to heal her. He had to save her. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, after everything they’d been through together.

‘ _Obi-Wan!’_ His master screamed down their bond and Obi-Wan was wrenched away from Padmé just long enough to see the Sith’s blade plunge into his master’s chest. Pain flooded their bond, though Obi-Wan couldn’t distinguish his own from Qui-Gon’s as his master crumbled, shock flashing across his eyes. The Sith spun, facing Obi-Wan with a triumphant grin.

“You can’t win, little apprentice,” he gloated. “I defeated your master. You are not strong enough to save him and you are not strong enough to kill me.”

Obi-Wan could feel the fear and anger welling up inside of him. It thrummed through the Force, bringing clarity through the haze of pain. Thousands of thoughts flooded through his mind, but they all settled on one thought, one mission. He was going to kill the Sith, here and now.

“That’s it,” the Sith purred as they squared off. Neither much cared what was happening around them. It was only the two of them. “Use your anger. It gives you power, strength. Let it free!”

Obi-Wan let out an anguished cry as he charged the Sith. His anger lent power to his strikes. His determination to have vengeance gave him ferocity. He fought as he never had before, driving the Sith back and back until the smirk fell away and it was all the Sith could do to keep Obi-Wan at bay. Obi-Wan hacked and slashed, technique all but gone as his lightsaber crashed against the floor and the wall. He didn’t care. He’d failed. He was the reason both Padmé and his master lay dying on the floor. And this Sith would not get away.

Obi-Wan didn’t notice the reinforcements that arrived, but the Sith most certainly did. As Alderaanian guards flooded the throne room, the Sith pressed Obi-Wan back, momentarily stunning him. But he didn’t go for the kill. Instead Obi-Wan felt the full weight of the Force pick him up, throwing him across the room. He recovered, landing on his feet, but by then the Sith was gone. A few of Captain Panaka’s men stood guard over the Viceroy and his advisors, blasters trained on them.

“Get a medic!” Captain Panaka knelt over Padmé. He looked up and met Obi-Wan’s gaze across the room. Obi-Wan’s own pain was echoed in the captain’s eyes.

Qui-Gon lay where he’d fallen, one of the fighters checking on him. Obi-Wan rushed to his master’s side. He was still alive; Obi-Wan could still feel him through their bond. But his presence was fading and Obi-Wan knew his master was dying.

“Master, no,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon gasped.

“Get a medic, please!” Obi-Wan cried.

“It’s too late,” Qui-Gon groaned, a new wave of pain passing through their bond as his master struggled to raise a hand.

“Promise me…you’ll train…Anakin.”

 _Anakin_? His master lay dying and all he could think of was the slave from Tatooine.

“I promise, Master,” Obi-Wan said, praying that a medic would arrive soon. If they got Qui-Gon into a bacta tank, they may be able to save him. But they need to arrive _now_.

“Somebody get a medic now!”

“Obi…wan…”

Tears dripped down his cheeks that he couldn’t even feel. He was numb inside as his master faded away.

“I’m going to kill the Sith,” Obi-Wan vowed, his voice soft and empty. His master couldn’t hear him anymore.

 

Padmé Amidala Organa woke days later, lying on a bed in the med center of Aldera. Medics bustled back and forth outside her door, but none of them stopped. She wasn’t a critical case anymore and with patients flowing in from the various camps, many injured and starving, there was greater need elsewhere. But as Padmé looked around the small, private room she lay in, her eyes fell on the sleeping form of Obi-Wan, head back as he dozed in the chair.

He was a frightful mess. His tunic was still singed with blaster marks and grime. His face was clean, but there was a bruise on his jaw and dark, haggard circles under his eyes. But, in sleep his expression was relaxed and peaceful and Padmé couldn’t help but smile. She tried to shift more upright but pain flared through her back and she was reminded why she found herself in the medical center. She’d been shot. She didn’t know by whom, but Padmé knew she was lucky to be alive. There were many that weren’t.

Obi-Wan stirred and slowly his blue eyes blinked open. They shot straight to Padmé and she smiled gently.

“You’re awake.” The relief was strong in Obi-Wan’s voice as he stood, if a bit stiffly, and came to Padmé’s bedside.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Three days,” Obi-Wan said. “You did it. They captured the Viceroy and a delegation arrived from the Senate yesterday to take custody of Nute Gunray. Alderaan is free again.”

To hear those words brought a swelling of pride and relief in Padmé’s heart. It was all she’d wanted, and to know that they’d succeeded, despite the overwhelming odds, made her injury feel like nothing.

“Bail? My parents?”

“Bail is alright,” Obi-Wan assured her. “He’s been working with the heads of the Noble Houses to reestablish the government and provide aid. A few of the neighboring systems are helping as well.”

That was good to hear, but it was strange that Bail was focusing his attention there. Her mother was queen and she’d been the ruler of Alderaan for decades. She was the best person to handle the relief effort and make all the necessary arrangements to get Alderaan’s government functioning again. Padmé almost didn’t want to ask.

“And my mother and father?”

Obi-Wan’s hesitation and the sorrow in his eyes were all the answer Padmé needed.

“I’m sorry, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said. “The Sith, he killed them, likely before we even entered the palace. The Sith create chaos and discord. That’s how they thrive. He…killed Qui-Gon as well.”

Padmé’s heart broke and her, thus far calm, exterior collapsed. Unthinking, Obi-Wan moved to sit on the bed, wrapping her in his arms. The two of them sat as she cried, both lamenting the steep price that was paid for peace.

Two days later, Padmé was released from the medical center. It was a solemn day as she dressed in mourning and was met by her brother. Obi-Wan hung back as the two of them left the medical center with their heads held high to face the grateful inhabitants of Alderaan. They were about to step into a speeder to take them back to the palace when Padmé stopped and looked around. She spotted Obi-Wan where he stood just outside the medical center and waved for him to come with her. He slipped through the crowd and slipped into the private speeder after Bail.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Obi-Wan told them.

“Nonsense,” Bail replied. “After everything you’ve done for my sister and for our homeworld, you will always be welcome as an honored guest on Alderaan.”

“I…should be getting back to the Jedi Temple. The Council will need a full report and Qui-Gon…I’ve lingered too long here as it is.”

“After the parade tomorrow we’ll arrange for a ship to take you back,” Bail said.

“A parade?” Padmé turned to her brother. “Do you really think that’s appropriate, with all of the work that still needs to be done?”

“I think it’s entirely appropriate,” Bail retorted. “It’s a chance to acknowledge the sacrifices of those who fought and celebrate Alderaan’s freedom. And besides, the plans are already made. You’ll simply have to come.”

When they arrived back at the palace, Obi-Wan was put up in one of the many lavish guest rooms, typically reserved for visiting members of the Alderaanian Noble Houses. It was larger and grander than anything Obi-Wan had ever stayed in before, and he felt awkward as he moved around the room. Bail had provided him with a fresh set of clothes and Obi-Wan had spent far too long in the fresher. He almost didn’t recognize his own reflection. His face was drawn and there was a bruise on his chin where he’d been to slow to avoid a kick from the Sith. The beginnings of a beard concealed it some and Obi-Wan found himself liking the effect. Perhaps he would keep it.

The next morning, Obi-Wan did what he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do the last five days. He’d stayed with Padmé in the medical center, telling himself that he was of much better use looking after her well-being than getting in the way. Qui-Gon’s body had been placed in a stasis chamber and was awaiting transport back to Coruscant in a private room of the family wing. One of the maids showed him the way and left him at the door, trying to work up the courage to go inside.

“There is no death, there is the Force,” Obi-Wan whispered to himself as he pushed the door open and slipped inside.

The stasis chamber kept Qui-Gon’s body in the same state as it was the day he’d died. Someone had folded his hands across his stomach, hiding the wound where the Sith’s blade had pierced him. He wore the same tunic, but his hair had been brushed. He looked serene, peaceful. It was a rarely seen expression. Qui-Gon had always been passionate in his service to the Jedi Order, to the Republic, and above all, to the Will of the Force, sometimes in spite of the High Council.

Qui-Gon’s lightsaber sat on a table next to the stasis chamber and Obi-Wan picked it up, feeling the worn groves. Obi-Wan’s own lightsaber had been modeled after his master’s, as a sign of honor and respect. There were some differences, but the grip and the emitter were almost exactly the same. When he returned to the Jedi temple, Qui-Gon would be given a Knight’s burial. Qui-Gon’s last request echoed in Obi-Wan’s mind, standing before his master’s body now. When Obi-Wan returned to the Temple, he would give his report, see to Qui-Gon’s memorial, and inform the Council of his decision to take Anakin as his apprentice as soon as his Knighthood trials were finished. He would be the best master Anakin could ever have. He would pass on Qui-Gon’s teachings, and Qui-Gon would live on through Anakin and Anakin’s apprentices. _There is no death, there is the Force._ The Jedi Code comforted him in his grief as Obi-Wan stood vigil over his fallen master. Like a good apprentice should.

There was a light knock on the door and Obi-Wan jumped.

“Come in,” he called.

To his surprise, Ambassador Palpatine entered.

“Ambassador,” Obi-Wan greeted him, bowing.

“My boy, I am so sorry for your loss,” Palpatine said, coming to stand at Obi-Wan’s side. “When I heard the news, I immediately wanted to come to pay my respects. Qui-Gon Jinn was an excellent Jedi, and a most loyal friend.”

Obi-Wan nodded as he turned back to his vigil. But a question burned in his mind.

“Are you here with the Senate delegation, Ambassador?”

Palpatine chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I suppose you’ve been busy so you haven’t heard the news. I have been named the new Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.”

Obi-Wan was stunned. He’d known as they were leaving Coruscant that there would likely be a new chancellor by the time they returned, but he’d just assumed it would be another appointed Senator.

“Congratulations on your election, _Chancellor_ ,” Obi-Wan replied, forcing a smile. He should be happy that a man who’d been a mentor to so many Jedi had been appointed to such a prestigious position. “I hope you will be able to bring compassion back to the Senate.”

“That is my only hope, my boy.”

 

All of Aldera came out for the victory parade. By mid-morning, the gathering outside of the palace had turned into a full-blown party with music and dancing. Dignitaries from the Republic and those systems that had provided aid stood before the palace steps. Obi-Wan was with them, just to the right of the center where Padmé waited to receive the triumphant fighters. She was resplendent in a flowing pearl gown, the bodice modeled after the insignia of House Organa. Her hair was done up in an elaborate style, topped with a silver circlet. For the first time since Obi-Wan had met her, she looked like the Princess she was.

A cheer went up over the crowd and a band burst into song as the first of the victorious fighters rounded the corner and paraded down the wide central vista towards the palace. They were a far-cry from the ragged band Obi-Wan had seen in the hangar of the bunker. The guards wore the colors and insignias of the houses they served while those civilians who’d been tossed into the fray wore their best clothes, provided by House Organa. Despite their differences, they marched down the street together, led by Bail Organa. Bail too wore his house’s colors, gray with a deep blue sash signifying his status as a member of the house. He met Padmé on the steps, exchanging a brief greeting before they turned to address the assembly. Hush took over the roaring crowd, all eager to hear the siblings speak.

“We did not ask for this tragedy,” Padmé said, her voice ringing clearly over the square. “We were caught unprepared and unaware. But the spirit of the people of Alderaan is strong. A hundred-thousand years ago, our ancestors colonized this world. And through their perseverance, we thrived, and 25,000 years ago, we became one of the founding worlds of the Galactic Republic. Alderaan has seen much suffering, heartache, and sorrow. We have persevered through it all, and this invasion was the same. It is _your_ victory we celebrate today. _Your_ sacrifices, _your_ perseverance. Stand proudly, Alderaanians, because once more we have won our freedom. Though we come from many houses, we stand as one world, one people. Alderaan forever!”

“Alderaan! Alderaan! Alderaan!” The crowd took up the chant and their voices echoed off the silver spires of the capital city. It was amazing how out of a shared sorrow came unity. Obi-Wan felt years older and wiser as he stood looking out over the city. His master had counseled him to not long for war, but to enjoy the hard-fought peace.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgICnbC2-_Y and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,  
> -Katerinaki

Epilogue:

Deep in the darkest bowels of Coruscant’s industrial sector, a small starship came in for landing on a concealed landing pad just beyond a dilapidated factory. Here the smog of industry choked out the sun and left the sector in twilight, even in the middle of the day. Standing on the platform, waiting for the starship was a black, cloaked figure. The ship came into a landing and the door opened, the landing ramp lowered as a horned being with red and black tattoos across his face walked stiffly down to meet the waiting figure. He knelt at the cloaked figure’s feet and bowed his head.

“Forgive me, Master,” Darth Maul hissed, the words sour on his tongue. “I did not hold Alderaan.”

“Rise, my apprentice,” his master, Darth Sidious, said. “You performed as I expected.”

Darth Maul frowned but he stood as his master began walking back into their private sanctuary. “I don’t understand. The Jedi…”

“Everything is going as planned.


End file.
